Bleeding Through
by Mattk
Summary: It all comes crashing down.
1. Prologue: Rising Winds

**Author's Note: This story is a sequel to Bleeding Out. I recommend reading that first.**

Doctor Drakken took a deep breath as the Global Justice operatives opened the door to Shego's room. It had been a week since he'd carried her out of the flaming ruins of his lair in the Ring of Fire, and he hadn't seen her since.

He'd spent that week retooling some of his older inventions for Global Justice, according to the terms of his deal (to his surprise and disappointment, they were far more interested in some of his side projects like the Truth Ray or the Juvenator than they were in any of his marvelous death rays), but today he'd put his foot down. He'd come into the lab, picked up his tools, then set them down again, and told them that he wasn't doing one more minute's work until he saw Shego, and satisfied himself that she was being treated well.

Now that he was actually here, with the door open in front of him, he was starting to think that maybe he'd been a bit too demanding.

"It's okay, Dr. D. You can come in. I promise not to hurt you."

Drakken ignored the smirks of the agents as he entered the room. If they thought that anything was funny about Shego in her current condition, then that explained why they were stuck spending their days on guard duty, and why they would probably remain there.

----

Drakken took another deep breath as the door locked behind him and reassured himself that he was reasonably safe in here. He was _pretty _sure that Global Justice didn't want him to get killed or maimed, so they'd probably be watching. And he'd taken beatings from Shego before.

Right. Perfectly safe.

"Uh, hello?" He called nervously. "Shego?"

"I'm right here, Doc," she said. And could she possibly sound…amused?

"Ah, well, yes. Of course you are. Not many places to hide in here, are there?" There weren't. It was a padded room, she was sitting on the only piece of furniture (the bed, which was bolted to the wall and had its legs bolted to the floor), and the green sweat suit she was wearing and the black of her hair were the only color against the stark white. "Um…" He hesitated, then decided to just ask: "Are you going to kill me, Shego?"

She actually _grinned_ at him. "Shego _wants_ to kill you. So it's lucky for you that _I'm_ in control, and _I'm _grateful to you for getting us some help."

"Oh. Hello, Sheila. I'm glad that you feel that way."

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence, then Sheila moved over and patted the bed beside her. "Here, cop a squat," she said.

"Uh, that does mean 'sit down', right? Because if – "

"Yes. Don't be gross. Sit."

He still hesitated, but then she grinned again, shook her head, and repeated herself in a way that made him feel much better: "_Sientate._"

Reassured, he obeyed. There was another moment or two of uncomfortable silence before he attempted to break the ice. "So…uh, Sheila, you're looking…different."

She was. Her hair was raven-black without the usual green tint, and her eyes were night-dark, but he'd come to expect that. There were other, more drastic changes. He frowned as he noticed some of them. "What's that you're wearing?" He asked.

"These?" Sheila asked, holding up her hands to display the heavy, bracelet-like objects on her wrists.

"And this," Drakken said, tapping on the collar she was wearing.

"Those are power dampeners," she said. "And here, look at this." She pulled up her sweatshirt.

"Gah!" Drakken whipped away before he could see anything, raising a hand to shield his eyes. "This isn't a conjugal visit, Sheila!"

"Which is why I still have my sports bra on."

"Sports bra?"

"Yeah, they don't want me to have underwire. Look, if I wanted to show you my tits, I'd show you my tits. That's not what you need to see."

Warily, his hand still up and ready to clap over his eyes, Drakken turned around. He needn't have worried. Sheila was turned away from him, and it was immediately clear what she wanted him to see: she was wearing some sort of harness, with what looked like a small battery pack between her shoulder blades, right on her spine. The "battery pack" had some sort of meter that was halfway lit up in green. "That's an energy siphon," She explained. "Every six hours, they take that and empty it into some sort of central battery." She chuckled as she pulled her sweatshirt back down. She actually _chuckled_. "I think they might be using me to power the base."

Drakken was outraged. "_This_ is their idea of treatment?" He demanded.

Sheila shrugged as she turned back around. "They tried to do more, but there were a couple accidents, and a couple people died. Now they just try to keep _me_ on the surface, and – "

Drakken wasn't listening. Instead, he sprang to his feet and began pacing in a way that was all-too-familiar: he was starting to rant.

"This is outrageous!" He began. "I have a deal with these people! Well, if – "

"_Doctor D!_"

Startled out of his rant, Drakken spun around. "Yes, uh, Sheila?"

"You did hear the part about two people dying in accidents as they tried to treat me, right?"

He paused. He _had_ heard something about something like that…

"Uh, yes."

"These people have a responsibility to their own before they have a responsibility to me, or your deal. Right now, they're focusing on keeping me as the dominant personality with the energy drain, and keeping me contained with the dampeners and the walls."

"The walls?"

"They're shielded, not just padded." She held up her wrist and looked at the heavy dampener there. "You know the scary thing? I think that just one of these things would have been enough to turn my plasma into a pretty lightshow back in the day. Now…" She shook the thought away, then patted the bed beside her again. "Now _sientate_. Tell me what's going on in your freaky world. I don't think we have much – "

She paused, grimacing.

"Sheila?"

"I don't think we have much – "

Then she wrapped her arms around herself and doubled over.

"Sheila!" He rushed over and knelt in front of her, trying to look into her face. "Are you all right?"

"No."

----

Hego was having a bad day. He'd had a lot of them recently, but this one seemed more aggravating than most somehow.

Not that it wasn't _always_ aggravating to be confronted by a piece of trailer trash with her litter of snot-nosed, dirty-faced, smelly brats, demanding a refund on a burrito that "wasn't very good", even though the burrito in question had been completely consumed. _After_ said brats had completely befouled their seating area, the bathroom, and the playground.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but – "

"Don't you sorry _me_, you greasy counter idiot. I paid my money, and I want some _good_ food, or I want my money back!"

"Ma'am, if you'd brought it back when you realized something was wrong – "

"Don't tell _me_ what I should do!"

"But ma'am, I can't – "

"And don't give me any excuses! I wanna talk to yer manager!"

That was enough. "I…_am_…the manager," Hego growled. "You stupid _puta_."

He blinked. Where had _that_ come from? And more puzzling still, why was the woman – and all of the other customers – backing away from him in fear? And why were they staring at his hands?

He looked down at his hands, to see whatever they were staring at.

Well. No wonder they were acting scared. He'd clenched his hands, shattering the counter with one and crushing his cash register with the other. Funny…he didn't _remember_ activating his Go Team Glow…

As he looked up to reassure the customers that there was no need to panic, everything was under control, we'd clean this right up, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, in one of the anti-theft mirrors.

He glanced up. His _eyes_ were glowing? Since when did –

That's when it hit him.

----

The other students gave the Wegos a wide berth as they stalked the halls of their high school. Until last spring, there'd been no one more cheerful or friendly than those two. A bit odd – more than once, a girl had shown up at a school dance or some other date with one of them on each arm – but still good guys.

Since just before school ended last spring, though, it seemed like they were in a permanent bad mood. Mere sophomores or not, no one wanted to mess with the two boys who could form a gang all by themselves.

They'd just entered the lunch room when they stopped dead in their tracks. They looked at each other in perfect unison, and their eyes flared red.

"Oh, shit."

"_Conyo_."

Then they started replicating.

----

Mego put on his brightest smile as he entered the classroom. A bunch of second-graders worked up to a near-squealing frenzy of excitement at meeting an actual superhero wasn't exactly the adulation of the masses, but an audience was an audience. Oh, sure, they might've preferred to meet Kim Possible or someone with a cooler superpower, but once he did his most popular trick (getting them all in a circle and shrinking until he was their size, and talking to them eye-to-eye), he'd have them in the palm of his hand.

He'd only gotten as far as "Hi, kids!" when something hit him, and he started to shrink.

----

At Sheila's request, Drakken had pulled up her sweatshirt to check the energy siphon. Where the meter had been half-green before, it was now fully lit and blazing brighter every second. It – and the power dampeners – were starting to make frantic beeping noises.

"I'm blowing up," Sheila said, her voice that of someone trying to good-humor their way through pain.

"Don't even joke about that," Drakken said, dropping back to his knee beside her. "Is there anything I can do?"

She looked up at him, and her eyes were blazing green. "I don't think so."

----

Hego took out the warming bin with a wild swing of his arm, then staggered into the grill, crushing stainless-steel appliances with each desperate attempt to catch and steady himself. Finally, he fell to the floor and began to thrash and convulse. All the windows shattered with the first kick, then pieces of ceiling fell with the first flail of his arm.

The customers – especially the trailerwife and her litter – ran for the doors.

----

Four Wegos.

Eight.

Sixteen.

Thirty-two.

Sixty-four.

One hundred twenty-eight.

All thrashing, twitching, and screaming, turning the lunchroom into a diorama of Hell.

----

One inch.

Half inch.

Quarter inch.

Microscopic.

Molecular.

Atomic.

Subatomic.

This was Mego's worst nightmare: his insignificance becoming real, tangible – shrinking out of existence. In a way, that was just what he'd done. It wasn't air he was breathing. It wasn't light he was seeing. Time and existence themselves were smoke and shadows at this level, and as he got further and further down, he…almost…saw…

And then he was growing.

----

"Get out! Close the door behind you and get the GJ guys out of here!"

_beep…beep…beep beep beep beepbeepbeebeebeebee_

----

Windows shattered and pavement cracked for blocks around. The Bueno Nacho collapsed on Hego, but he didn't notice. Nor did he notice the explosions as ruptured gas pipes met damaged heating elements.

Lost in his misfiring nervous system, Hego didn't notice much of anything – he just kept kicking and thrashing. And each kick and wild swing of his arms registered on seismographs for hundreds of miles.

----

After the one thousand twenty-fourth Wego, something started to go wrong.

Wegos without eyes. Wegos without limbs. Wegos that screamed through smooth, blank faces.

And then, as the numbers climbed, the duplicates lost all resemblance to the friendly young boys that they'd originally been and became twisted, nameless _things_.

----

Mego collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself as he returned to his normal size.

"Mr. Mego? Are you alright?"

"No. Get the kids out of here."

"Mr. Mego?" When the teacher touched his shoulder, his face snapped up at her. Purple light was blazing from his eyes and pouring between his gritted teeth.

"I said get out of here! Go! Now!"

And then he started to grow.

----

Drakken came flying out of Shego's cell, slammed the door behind him, and started running.

"Hey, Doc! Where do you think – "

"Take cover!" Drakken screamed back to them. "She's gonna blow!"

The Global Justice operatives looked at each other. They had decided between themselves that the blue-skinned mad scientist was one part crazy mixed with two parts cowardly, flavored with a generous helping of stupid. Doing as he said wasn't high up on their list of things to do. They didn't think it was an escape attempt – he'd closed the door and he knew about his tracking chip – so what in hell was he doing? In any case, they'd look pretty stupid if…

That was when they heard a faint electronic whine – _BEEEEEEEEE_ – coming from inside the cell. That was when they started to run.

----

Inside the padded cell, the power dampeners and the energy siphon reached their limits and burned out. Then they ceased to exist as anything but scattered atoms of iron and silicon.


	2. Lull

_The Masked Warrior drove her gladius into Drakkus Maximus's heart, and the scar-faced sorcerer fell with one final scream. All across the city of Rome, his army of homunculi collapsed into puddles of stinking goo. The still form of his bodyguard – once his chief concubine before he had bound a fire-demon into her body – disappeared in a burst of green flame, leaving nothing behind but a greasy smear of ash._

_The Masked Warrior took off her helmet – and the mask that had earned her name – and tossed her head. Then she sighed in frustration and ran her hand through the close-cropped red stubble that had, until recently, been a glorious auburn mane. It would be one thing for the Romans to figure out that the Masked Warrior was a woman – although she wore this teat-crushing breastplate to conceal that very fact – but quite another for them to realize that she was a Celt. The Romans had bad memories about barbarian warrior-women, and she didn't fancy the idea of being whipped to death or crucified, or the idea of committing the slaughter she would have to commit if she wanted to avoid either fate. _

"_Shim!" _

_She sighed and shook her head, much more fondly than she once would have. Was the name Siobhan really that difficult for the Roman to pronounce?_

"_Shim!" Ronacus cried again as he raced up to her. He was covered in whatever foul goop the homunculi were made of, but his face was lit up with triumph. "We did it!"_

"_We?"_

"_You did it!" He continued without missing a beat. "The Empire is safe!"_

_The smile dropped from "Shim's" face. "The _world _is safe, Ronacus."_

_Ronacus just barely stopped himself in time from asking what was the difference. In his excitement, he'd forgotten that his friend might not be as glad as he was about the Empire's new security._

"_Right," he said, very quickly and much more subdued. "The world. Anyway, we won. Why don't we visit the baths, then go to the taverna, get some wine and cheese, and – "_

"_No."_

"_No? But – "_

"_No, Ronacus. I can't. I need to leave."_

"_Leave?"_

"_It's dangerous for me to be here, you know that. Now that I've done what I came to do, I need to go home."_

_Ronacus's face fell._

"_But do you need to go…so soon?"_

"_Ronacus, the sooner I get out of this city – and your Empire – the less chance I have of ending up on an auction block. You knew that from the beginning."_

"_I guess I did. But I'd always hoped that you'd change your mind. That you'd stay. Here…in Rome…with me."_

_The warrior who had faced a sorcerer's demon-slave without flinching closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I was afraid you'd ask that," she said._

"_Afraid? _Why_?"_

"_If all you wanted was to lie with me, I wouldn't say no. But…I've seen what the lives of Roman women are like, Ronacus, and I couldn't live it. I won't be your slave."_

"_I would never treat you like a slave!"_

"_No. But I would still be one." She started to turn away, then paused. "I don't suppose you could come with me?" She asked back over her shoulder._

"_I wouldn't end up in that wicker thing, would I?"_

"_You might. I don't think my father _or _my mother would appreciate me bringing home an enemy of our people."_

"_I guess that's all there is to say, then."_

"_Almost." She turned around, came back, took his slime-coated face in her hands and kissed him. "Fare you well, Ronacus."_

"_Goodbye, Siobhan."_

_She blinked at him in astonishment._

_He grinned at her then, though his eyes were glistening. "Shim."_

_She just smiled and shook her head._

_And then she jogged out the doorway of Drakkus Maximus's throne room, and she was gone. _

----

Kim Possible woke up with tears in her eyes. It was morning – a bright, beautiful morning. Her alarm clock hadn't gone off yet, and the sunlight was just starting to come in her window.

She turned off the alarm before it could sound and sat up. She put her face in her hands, wiping her eyes and rubbing her temples.

_A dream. Just a dream. I'm not leaving Ron, and he's not leaving me. We have problems – oh, the problems we have – but after all we've been through, we're not even in the same _hemisphere_ as giving up._

That was decided. Right.

_Think I'm still going to be extra-clingy today, though._

She wiped her eyes one last time, took a deep, shuddering breath and got out of bed.

This was her first day of Senior Year. She _so_ hadn't needed to start it off like this.

----

"Hey there, Kimmiecub!"

"Good morning, honey."

Her brothers didn't say anything as she entered the kitchen, just made vaguely greeting-like grunts in her direction and kept shoveling food into their mouths. Good. They'd been so…_clingy_ over the summer. So _nice_. She understood why, of course, and although it was sweet, it was also awk-weird. More than anything, it had made her sad. Although she wouldn't miss the teasing if it never came back, she was glad that her brothers were getting back to kinda normal. Kinda. For them. She didn't think that they'd ever get their taste for explosions back, though.

But that was good, wasn't it?

Anyway. Huh. She'd never seen them pack away food quite like this before. It was almost Ron-esque. Hmm…they _were_ getting close to _that_ age…she resolved to keep an eye out for any sign that their previous beliefs regarding girls and cooties were starting to change. A few performances as the Protective Martial Artist Big Sister might make up for a few of their showings as the Embarrassing Little Brothers…

All of these thoughts passed through her mind even as she was returning their greetings with a cheery "Good morning!"

"Want some french toast?" Her mother offered.

"Please and thank you." _Of course_ she wanted some french toast.

"So you're finally a senior," her father said, folding his paper as she sat down at the table.

"Yep. First day of school with my new face."

Her parents both stiffened, but her brothers looked up from their food with an expression she almost didn't recognize on their identical faces. After all, they'd never looked at her with respect before.

"Hoo-sha," Tim murmured. Then they turned back to their food.

_Let me have the joke, Dad. Please let me have the joke. If I can joke about it, then it's only life-size after all. _

His smile returned – albeit a little strained – and he pushed on gamely. "Why, so it is," he said. "Looking forward to it?"

Sometimes, even her Dad could rock.

"I'm a little nervous," she admitted. "I've gone to places like the mall and Bueno Nacho, but those were places that I could just – you know – blend into the crowd. Now I'm going back to the school where the last time anybody saw me, they were digging me out from under a wall. Everyone is _so_ going to be looking."

"You shouldn't kid yourself, honey," her mother said gravely from where she stood at the stove. Her husband and her daughter turned to her.

Her sons kept eating.

She suddenly threw a mischievous grin over her shoulder at them. "You've never blended into a crowd in your life."

Her husband chuckled, and Kim grinned back.

"True," she agreed. "But still…" Her grin faded. "It feels like the first day of Pre-K all over again. Starting over and wondering if the other kids are going to like me."

"I really don't think you have to worry about that, Kimmiecub," Her father said. "Just remember what we told you on that first day of Pre-K – "

"Always say please and thank you?" she guessed, her grin returning.

His grin matched hers. "Yes, that, but – "

"Anything is possible for a Possible?"

"That, too, but – "

"GOOOOD MORNING POSSIBLE CLAN! Ooh, is that french toast?"

"Yes, Ron, it is. But if you try and take any before Kimmie gets hers, you'll draw back a nub. Here, I have some turkey bacon for you."

"Ooh, yeah, I am _all_ about the fakin' bacon, Mrs. Dr. P."

James Possible turned from the scene at the stove with a much broader grin on his face. " – But what I really wanted to remind you about was that it would be fun once you made a friend."

----

Kim and Ron left for school not long after. They went hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, not saying a word – which was weird, considering that they'd both been fully involved in the raucous noisiness of the Possible kitchen. Weirder yet considering that getting Ron to be quiet was usually the hard part.

It was only when Kim realized that she was gripping Ron's hand so hard it had to hurt, and that Ron was gripping hers just as tight, but that neither of them could seem to relax, let alone let go, that she got an idea what might be going on.

Of course, that idea was crazy. But then, her boyfriend was a conduit for the Mystic Monkey Power who had a talking naked mole rat – also a conduit for the Mystic Monkey Power – for a pet. Weird shit happened.

"You got to the house early today," she said, trying to break the ice.

He didn't answer for a long moment, and she was about to ask again when he finally spoke: "I had to see you," he said.

"Couldn't wait the extra couple minutes?" She asked.

He shook his head. "No. I…I – "

"Had a bad dream?"

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her.

"Ronacus?" She guessed.

His eyes widened. "Shim," He said. "Kim, it was horrible. You were just walking – well, running – away –"

"And you couldn't come with – "

"But you couldn't stay – "

"And – oh, Ron, it was awful, I woke up just about crying – "

"I know, me too. I just woke up and had to see you. I couldn't face it if – "

"I know, I couldn't either. You've been my best friend forever and I love you so much, and after all we've been through –"

Their words rapidly descended into a senseless babble, and it was hard to say which one of them was the first to give up on words entirely and just grab hold and express their feelings more directly.

They continued on in that vein for a minute or two, interrupting their frantic kisses only long enough for:

"You're not going anywhere are you? You're not going to leave me?"

"Of course not how could I I don't know what my life would be without you you've always been there"

"It was just a dream right? Just a dream?"

"Just a dream. I'm not going anywhere not now not ever"

They each took turns on each side of the conversation – between reassuring and begging for reassurance. Neither of them asked how they could possibly have had the same "just a dream" – heck, they'd done it before.

They might very well have been there much longer if they hadn't heard two familiar sounds coming from above:

Felix's engines and Monique's voice.

"Are you two done yet?"

With a sigh and a roll of their eyes, Kim and Ron broke apart, though their hands – in a somewhat more relaxed grip this time – stayed together.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron called up. "You two hypocrites can bring it in for a landing, whenever you want to."

"Really, feel free," Kim agreed dryly.

A moment later, Felix – with a smugly-grinning Monique in his lap – landed his chair on the sidewalk beside them. Normally, Monique would have ridden Felix's lap all the way down – and probably beyond – but it had been too long since she'd seen Kim. As soon as they got within safe distance of the ground, she leaped off and caught the redhead in a flying hug.

"How are you _doing _girlfriend?" She squealed.

Kim responded with a squeal of her own: "Monique! You look fabulous!"

She did. Monique had always been a Fashion Mistress (her own term), and she had really outdone herself today. Hey, it was the first day of Senior Year, and she was here to show just who was rulin' this school this year.

Fashion was only a part of it, however – Monique was looking sickeningly glow-ish this morning. As she always did, anymore. She'd been walking around with a huge smile on her face for weeks – and she was only too happy to give Kim the details as to why.

"So do you, girl!" And she meant it, too. That meant a lot, even if Kim thought she was wrong.

Ron and Felix settled for a bit of manly shoulder-clapping instead of hugging and squealing, then settled in to talk about the latest _Zombie Mayhem_ release while they waited for their girlfriends to finish up their greeting ritual.

When the hugging and squealing was over, the four of them set off together, talking of unimportant things. Kim and Ron even told their friends about their shared dream. Neither of those friends asked how such a thing could be – Ron had a talking naked mole rat for a pet and Kim had survived getting blown through a cinderblock wall. Weird shit happened.

----

When Kim had still been in the hospital, still in her coma, and every indication had been that she would come out of her coma and go into a wheelchair, Felix had talked to her about going on double dates, with both of them rolling along like bookends, with the normally-abled people between them. This morning, by pure chance, the opposite happened: Monique and Ron were walking on the outside, with their respective significant others sandwiched between them.

Kim liked that just fine. It was kind of reassuring to have Felix there beside her. She'd gotten closer to him over the summer, in a funny sort of way. She could talk to him about things that…well, she could _talk _to other people about them, but he _understood_ things that no one else did. True, she didn't pretend to understand _his _sitch completely – her physical abilities were the same as they'd ever been – but her injuries still counted as catastrophically life-changing, and he was right there with her on that.

She paused and took a deep breath when the school – and the dozens of students milling around in front of it – came into sight. Ron squeezed her hand, and she turned her head to exchange a smile with him.

Then Felix took and squeezed her other hand, and she turned to look at him, surprised.

He looked her square in the eye. "Hit by a car," he said quietly.

A slow, grateful smile spread across her face as she realized what he was doing. "Blasted by a supervillain," she said. Then she turned back toward the school, squared her shoulders, took another deep breath, and marched forward.

----

Kim had been right about one thing. When she arrived at Middleton High School, everyone was _so_ looking. As the four of them approached the front doors, one milling student after another fell silent and turned to stare. Worse, they stepped back to get a better look or get out of the way, so instead of threading through a crowd where they might be lost to general sight for at least a second or two, they were walking a gauntlet.

Kim felt every eye on her. She knew it was arrogant to think so, but still, she knew that she was the main attraction here. Monique and Felix might as well have been invisible, and while Ron had gained a certain fame of his own, he didn't _look_ any different than he ever had. His customary baggy clothes hid his new lean muscle.

_She_, on the other hand…the last time any of them had seen her, she'd been lying broken in the middle of a parking lot, or in her hospital bed. Most hadn't even seen that. They'd just heard the stories. Was there concern? She _knew_ there was curiosity.

She was dressed in items from what Monique had come to call her "body issues wardrobe": slacks, a shirt with long sleeves and a high neckline, gloves, and a scarf. Even if covering up her facial scars completely had been possible, it would have required applying the foundation with a trowel. Instead, she'd put on enough so that the scars, while visible, were at least skin-colored instead of their usual angry red, and then draped her hair artfully over the right side of her face.

And with all that in place, she still felt naked. Everyone was _watching_ her, and they all _had_ to know what was beneath the armor. Maybe they couldn't _see_, exactly, but they had to _know_. What were they thinking? Pity? Horror?

"Hello, Kim," A familiar voice sing-songed.

Bonnie Rockwaller stepped out, into the gauntlet and into Kim's way.

"_There_ you are," Bonnie said, putting her hands on her hips, acting like no one else was there and this was just another day. "Took your time getting here, didn't you? Do you have _anything_ ready for this afternoon, or – "

That summer, Kim and Bonnie had had a very similar confrontation. It had taken Kim until it was nearly over to figure out what Bonnie was _really_ doing. This time, she wasn't caught nearly as flat-footed. She had it all worked out even as the first people (Ron and Monique among them) were starting to glare at the dark-haired girl.

Bonnie Rockwaller was not this stupid. If she'd really wanted to come after her, she would've done it at cheer practice, or in the locker room, or some random spot in the halls, or…anywhere but in front of a crowd that she _knew_ was sympathetic to her opponent.

But Bonnie Rockwaller _was_ used to being hated. Maybe she was willing to take on a bit more if that proved to the rest of the school that Kim Possible could survive being treated like she always had.

Maybe Kim could make it so she wouldn't have to. She held up a hand.

"Bonnie," she interrupted.

"What?"

Kim glanced at her watch. "We don't have much time. You and I both know that you aren't really here to talk about cheerleading, so let's both just say what we mean and get it over with, okay?"

Bonnie blinked in surprise. It wasn't often that Kim Possible was able to leave her at a loss for words. "Okay."

Kim stood up a little straighter, as if preparing to give an oration. She cleared her throat, then spoke out calmly and clearly: "Bitch."

Bonnie's eyes widened. Actually, everyone's did. Kim Possible could cuss?

Almost everyone's. Out of the corner of her eye, Bonnie could see Felix Renton waving her on. "Uh…loser."

"Slut."

Bonnie's eyes widened for a different reason this time. "Tightass," she countered.

"Bossy, stuck-up, backstabber."

"Crazy, little-miss-perfect freak."

"Honor satisfied?"

Bonnie stopped in mid-retort, realizing that Kim hadn't insulted her. She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yeah," She said, sounding surprised. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Good. I'll see you this afternoon at practice – where I'll boss you around and show you up."

"Uh, excuse me," Bonnie said as she started for the door – the first warning bell was about to ring, after all – "Only the former."

----

"What just happened?" Ron asked.

Felix sighed. "Ron, buddy, please try and use your head as something other than a seriously questionable fashion accessory. What do you think happened?"

"Hey, that's…that's a demonstration of what just happened, isn't it?"

"Show that kind of brilliance playing _Zombie Mayhem_, and you might actually win once in a while."

"Big talk from the guy who can't function without a flamethrower," Ron retorted. The trash-talk was little more than reflex, however. He was apparently deep in thought. "So, you think…?"

Felix nodded. "I think. But I don't know. You could always, you know, ask your girlfriend yourself…once you catch her."

"Catch her?"

"She _is_ getting away," Monique said, pointing toward the doors.

As he often did, Ron overreacted. Rather than take off after his girlfriend (who was not, in fact, "getting away" from him, but just taking a few steps to watch Bonnie walk away, both of them wearing strange smiles) at a brisk walk, he took off at a sprint. He "caught up" to Kim just as she turned around to go back to him, and there was a failed attempt to stop in time, and there was a collision, and there was a tangle of limbs on the ground that looked like a combination of a car crash and a Public Display of Affection, and it was all quite amusing. Even moreso when Rufus crawled out of Ron's pocket, stood on the heap that his two humans had collapsed into, and began to shake his claw and scold them for waking him up from his post-cheese-omelet nap. Felix and Monique could only sigh and shake their heads.

"The boy has so much to learn," Monique said.

"He sure does," Felix agreed. "Until he admits that flamethrowers are just the best weapons in the game, he'll never reach his full potential."

----

The confrontation with Bonnie (and the subsequent crash, from which Kim rose un…well, no more scathed than she'd been before it had happened) weren't magical cure-alls, any more than Drakken's nano-cloners had been. Many – most – of the students and teachers still stared and whispered (all while trying to look like they weren't), but at least the ice had been broken.

----

"Cheerleader!"

"Hey, Big M-ulph!" (Pause) (Laugh) "I'm glad to see you, too, Big Mike." (Pause) "Um…you can put me down now." (Pause) "No, really, oxygen is becoming an issue."

----

As they'd both decided before they'd been interrupted by Felix and Monique, Ron and Kim were extra-clingy that morning.

They weren't the only extra-clingy couple in Middleton High, though, and they soon spotted another as they walked the halls:

"Hey, Tara! Josh!"

Tara and Josh Mankey didn't let go of each other's hands as they hurried over to welcome back their…well, "wounded hero" and "dear friend" tended to blend together where Kim Possible was involved…not until Tara _absolutely needed_ her hand free to hug Kim.

The two of them had been "extra clingy" since Tara had run into the battle with the Syntho-drones to pull Josh to safety. She'd spent those first few days in the hospital at his bedside, and she'd helped him through the frustrating weeks of recovery from his injuries. As a result, her room was practically wallpapered with sketches and paintings of herself as an angel or goddess, in all sorts of kindly or righteous poses.

For good or ill, the men of Middleton High School – especially those who were dating the cheerleaders, _especially _the men who'd spent any amount of time with Kim Possible – would never have trouble admitting that their girlfriend was their hero.

But now, Tara was clinging tight to Kim, and Kim was returning the favor. "I haven't seen you guys since…well, since school ended," she said.

"Well, _we_ saw _you_ a couple of times," Josh said.

"But you're looking so much _better_ than you did then," Tara said, stepping back and letting go of the hug, but taking hold of Kim's hands – as if needing continued reassurance that Kim was there. "Oh, Kim, we're so glad to see you."

Kim blinked. She was glad to see Tara, of course, but she was a bit startled by the sheer effusiveness of the blond girl's greeting. "Is it that much of a surprise?" She asked.

"Actually, it is," Josh answered. "A lot of people were saying you wouldn't come back after what happened."

"Well, you should've known better than to believe them," Ron said indignantly.

"Hnk-yeah," Rufus scolded from his pocket, shaking a claw at the artist.

Josh just held up his hands in surrender and gave a bemused smile. "I guess so," he admitted.

Kim let go of one of Tara's hands and hooked an arm around Ron's waist. "_You_ should _really _know better," She said. "I hear you took a pretty serious hit in the fight, too."

Of all the fights in the history of Middleton High, of all the fights that Kim herself had been involved in, there was only one that the student body referred to simply as The Fight. That said something.

Josh's smile became slightly embarrassed. And uncomfortable? "If you want to call it a fight," he said. "It was a three-hit fight for me: I hit their line, one of them hit me, and I hit the floor. But yeah. I came in a…_very _distant second. Broken jaw and damaged orbital bone around my left eye. Needed surgical repair."

"Can I see?" Kim asked.

Now Josh looked _really_ uncomfortable. Why? Boys didn't usually mind showing off their scars. Besides, she felt a certain camaraderie with the other person who'd gotten their face messed up.

She understood when Josh tilted his cheek toward her and pointed at a thin, nearly invisible surgical scar beside his left eye.

_That_ was how distant second place was.

She quickly changed the subject to class schedules.

----

The first sign that something was wrong – although it seemed like no big at the time – came just as their new English teacher was giving the yearly introduction speech that had given him an odd (though not bad) reputation among the Middleton student body:

"Good morning, ladies and gentleman. I am Mr. Connors. I know that many of your other teachers wish to be on a first-name basis with you. That is their prerogative, but I do not. You are nearly adults, and so I will treat you as such. That is to say, I will address you by your last name and an appropriate honorific. This is a gesture of respect, which I expect will be returned."

There were a few murmurs from the class – some impressed, some confused – and Mr. Connors was about to quiet them and speak further when the room started to shake. The lights flickered, chalk jumped out of the chalk-trays and shattered, and the windows rattled in their frames.

That last was the one that worried Kim Possible the most.

"Everybody down!" She ordered. "Get under your desks, grab hold, and cover your eyes!"

Everyone obeyed. Even Mr. Connors. Some things didn't change, and everyone knew who was in charge in Middleton High during an emergency.

Not that this was much of an emergency. A few minutes after it had begun, the room stopped shaking and everyone got back into their seats. One of the windows _had_ cracked, however, as if Someone wanted them to know that it _could_ have been serious.

Kim had her Kimmunicator in hand as she got into her seat, and a familiar round face appeared in the viewscreen. "Wade, what – "

"Ms. Possible? Thank you for your earthquake-safety instructions, but I need to return to the lesson now. I'm sure that Dr. Load will call you if you're needed."

Kim blinked. She looked at her teacher, then at Wade.

"Dr. Load?" She asked.

Wade shrugged. "PhD's in Chemistry, Engineering, and a couple other fields. I get bored between missions, too."

"Ms. Possible, please. You, too, Mr. Stoppable."

Sheepishly, Kim and Ron put their communicators away, and the lesson resumed.

----

"Hey, _m'ijo_."

"Oh, hey, Zita."

"Hnh-hi Zita."

"Hey, Rufus. You know, my _mami_ is still waiting for a chance to show you what _real_ quesadillas taste like. You'll never go back to that McMex place you like so much again."

"Hey, don't you threaten him like that!"

(chuckle) (Pause)

"So. Looks like you took good care of your girl this summer."

"Well…I did my best."

"You brought her back to us. That's what counts. Now you'd better go catch her. She's – "

"Catch her? KP! Wait! I'm – "

"Ron, no! She's just – "

_Crash!_

(Sigh) "Ai, yi yi."

----

The second bad thing that happened that day was much easier to recognize as such than the first had been.

----

They were just entering the cafeteria when Mr. Barkin's voice came over the PA system: "Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable please report to the main office immediately."

"Aw, maaann," Ron whined.

Kim looked at him suspiciously. "Ron, did you do something wrong?"

"I'm sure I did, but that's beside the point," he said. "They're having sloppy joes!"

"And that's a good thing why?"

"At least it's _supposed_ to be goopy! It may even be goopy the way it's supposed to be!"

Kim sighed and rolled her eyes. "Come on. If we hurry, we may get back in time to have some."

"Aww, but the stuff on top is fat and slow. The stuff that manages to escape until the end is always wily and hard to kill."

----

"Possible. Stoppable. Please close the door and sit down."

They obeyed, both of them trying to think what they could have done wrong. Oh, sure, it was theoretically possible that he wanted them for some other reason, but the odds were against it.

They fidgeted as the moment stretched on and he still said nothing. It didn't make any sense that Mr. Barkin could still make them this nervous after all they'd faced, but what can you do?

Then he ran a hand through his hair and started rubbing the back of his neck. "This is very difficult for me to say," He began, in a voice more subdued than they'd ever heard from him.

Their hearts dropped into their stomachs, and they reached for each other's hands. Mr. Barkin had lost his bluster. This wasn't "you're-in-trouble" bad, this was "someone-has-lost-their-health" bad.

"You two probably aren't aware of this, but there has been a controversy about you in this school district for some time now."

"A controversy? We're controversial? This isn't about all my 'wardrobe malfunctions', is it?"

"A very bitter controversy. And no, Mr. Stoppable, it's not. It's about whether or not you're a danger to your fellow students."

The two teenagers stared at him blankly.

"But…we'd never…we try to _help_ people!" Kim protested.

"And you succeed," Barkin said. "You do everything from saving the world to helping old ladies across the street, and you've been saving lives _in this school district _since you applied the Heimlich Maneuver to Jennifer Lieberman in seventh grade. You're both genuine, Medal-of-Honor heroes."

"Then…why…"

"Because that's only one side of the controversy, Possible. The other side is that, like most heroes, you've made your share of enemies. And those enemies don't hesitate to attack this school or its functions to get at you. That's what happened the time you got that explosive tick stuck on your nose, and that's what happened at Wannaweep – both times."

Neither of them had an answer for that. They'd never even thought of it that way. Sometimes the villains' schemes happened in Middleton – but they had to happen somewhere, didn't they? And they sometimes ended up having to rescue their classmates. But villains endangered innocent people. That's what made them villains. Right?

Yes, right. But Mr. Barkin was right, too. The Tick Incident, the clones, Gill, Adrena Lynn kidnapping Brick, Bonnie being made the Queen of the BeeBees…all of it had happened because of them and/or their world-saving thing. It had never been anything they'd done on purpose, but still…you'd think that after a while, two "heroes" would notice what effect they were having on the place and people they were trying to protect.

_Were we really that blind? That…selfish?_

"The whole issue was conclusively closed last spring – twice," Barkin continued. "First, when you stopped the Diablo invasion. You saved first this town, then the world, from something that was unequivocally _not_ your fault, and weren't we all glad we had you around?"

Did Mr. Barkin actually look…_proud_? Nah…couldn't be…

As quickly as whatever-that-expression-had-been had come, it was gone, and his face clouded over.

"The second time was the attack on the cafeteria. For the first time, other students were not just endangered but actually injured. There was a lot of finger-pointing, a few lawsuits, people who'd been on your side before rethought their position…it was a bad situation. But other than a few shouting matches, no one really said anything about what to do with _you_, because no one really expected you to come back."

"But then you showed up at those front doors this morning, and from that moment calls have been pouring into this office, and the superintendent's: complaints, threats of _more _legal action…we've been left with little choice."

The teens swallowed hard and gripped each other's hands tightly.

"Possible, Stoppable…I regret to inform you that as of this moment, you are no longer students at Middleton High."

It was a stupid question. She knew the answer. He'd just said it, as gently as it could be said. She'd heard it coming the whole time he'd been describing the "controversy" to them. Still, Kim couldn't stop herself from asking it:

"You're expelling us?" She said, her voice tiny and lost.

"Yes, we are," Another voice answered as the office door opened. A short man with a fringe of colorless hair around his bald pate strode into the room, flanked by no less than four police officers.

"Superintendent Burlson," Mr. Barkin nodded.

"Don't sit there and act so calm, Steve," Burlson barked. "I told you not to call them in until we got here. You know how dangerous these two are."

"Dangerous?" Kim squeaked. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

"But…can you do this?" Ron asked. "I mean, _yeah_, stuff happened, and maybe it happened because we were there, but it didn't happen because we did anything _wrong_…"

"Of course we can do this, Mr. Stoppable," Burlson snapped, cutting Ron off. "You've both been involved in _innumerable_ incidents of violence and property damage on school grounds, and it is not only my right, but my _responsibility _to expel you both."

Ron whirled to his feet. Kim was just a heartbeat behind him, grabbing his arm as she rose. Ron was a lot better than he had been, but he was still having some anger-management issues.

Mr. Burlson took a few steps back, into the safety of his police escort.

"We were involved in those 'incidents' because were trying to _stop_ them," Ron shouted, jabbing with his finger like a bayonet.

Mr. Burlson fixed him with a cold glare. "This school doesn't need your kind of 'protection', Mr. Stoppable," he said. "We don't need two underage vigilantes with media-fueled delusions of being 'teen heroes'. I told people for years that it was only a matter of time before you hurt yourselves or someone else, and now you've done both, and I'm damned if I'm going to give you another chance."

Kim took a _very_ tight grip on Ron's arm – he hadn't so much as started to take a single step forward, but she didn't want to take any chances (and maybe, just maybe, she needed to get a grip on something herself) – and raised her eyes to Burlson's. Not difficult. They were approximately the same height.

If she was expelled, then he wasn't an authority figure to her anymore. And maybe she'd done more damage than she'd realized, but she'd done good – real good – too. And this little troll had no idea how long and how hard she'd wished it was all a delusion.

"You practiced that speech on the way over here, didn't you?" She snapped, her voice cold and sharp.

His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He yanked some papers out of a folder he'd been carrying and shoved them into their hands. "Here is the paperwork. These officers will escort you off school property."

Kim took her papers and glared back at him. Angry wasn't a very good way to feel, but it was better than humiliated and miserable and guilty. "Is that really necessary?" She asked.

"Considering the _reason _we're throwing you out? Yes, Ms. Possible, I think it is."

----

Kim, Ron, and the (four! _Four!_) police officers walked through the empty halls in silence.

All four of their escorts were stone-faced. Kim absently wondered why. What did they think about what they were doing? Which side of the 'controversy' were they on? She knew that some cops appreciated her help, while others resented her interference. Hell, they resented _Global Justice's_ interference. Which were these?

For once, she didn't care.

"Um, excuse me," she said. "Could I use the bathroom before we go? Please and thank you?"

One of the officers looked at her sourly, and she suddenly had an idea which camp he was in. Then another – the only woman – laid a hand on her shoulder. "I have to go with you, honey. Make sure you don't smash the mirrors or anything."

Ron bristled. "Do you really think – "

"It's okay, Ron," Kim interrupted. Then she pointed at an upcoming door. "There's one right there," she said, starting to turn.

----

Kim walked into the bathroom with the female cop close behind her.

"Ms. Possible – "

"Please. Call me Kim."

"Kim. I just wanted a chance to say how sorry I am about this – "

"It's not your fault," Kim said, ignoring the stalls and crossing to the sink.

" – And that not everyone – "

"If it wasn't you, it would be someone else," Kim interrupted. "And if it was no one, I'd still have to leave." She turned on the water.

Her escort paused, unsure what to say or do next. "Well…that's very kind of you…"

"No big."

Pause.

"What are you doing?"

----

"What is _taking_ them so long?" The sour-faced guard growled.

"Hey," Ron said. "You know how women are in the bathroom. They're probably talking about us."

Two of them glared at him. The third looked uncomfortable. Ron just looked back at all three of them innocently. Then the door opened, and his face split into a bleak and terrible grin.

Kim had come out of the bathroom with the female officer trailing helplessly behind her. She'd taken off her gloves and washed off her makeup, and tied her hair back with her scarf.

"There's my girl now," he said.

----

The police officers split up, two of them accompanying each teen to their locker. It was just the first day of school, so there was very little for Ron to retrieve (especially considering that he decided to leave his Hidden Emergency Bueno Nacho Breakfast Burrito behind – yeah, it was petty. Your point is?). It took a little longer for Kim to fold her locker computer up into its carrying case. She was just finishing up when the class bell rang.

The hall filled up with chattering students. As they walked past, of course they had to look. Police visits weren't all that common at Middleton High.

Then they looked again. Was that _Possible? _And _Stoppable?_ What could _they_ have –

Then they looked again.

Most of them had seen Possible since that morning. Sure she looked different, but it was – as the girl herself would have said – no big.

This _was_ big.

Her left hand looked like it had been inexpertly molded from wax, or – as some observant souls noticed – like it had been partially melted.

Her right hand and the right side of her face were shattered porcelain, clumsily glued back together. The carefully minimized lines of that morning had been replaced by raw brands.

It was the one act of defiance she would allow herself. She had tried to fit back in, to be the girl she'd always been. To make everyone – herself included, she was willing to admit – comfortable. She had been denied that, so she would walk out of here with her real face on the surface.

To some of the observers, it went even deeper, whether she meant it to or not. To them, her stigmata were an accusation: _Look what I've done,_ they said. _Look what I've sacrificed for you, and look what they're doing to me._

One by one, they fell silent, they stopped, they watched. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the silence swept through the halls like a tide. Finally, as Kim and Ron walked – single file and flanked by their keepers – toward the front door, it seemed like the entire school was watching, but it was silent like no school _ever_ was when it was in session.

The silence was broken by a motorized hum as Felix pulled up alongside them. "Ron? What's going on, buddy?"

Ron didn't look at his friend as he answered. "Kicking us out, dude," he answered, in a conversational tone but loud and clear enough for the entire hall to hear. "We're too dangerous to be here."

An amazed, confused murmur spread through the hall as Felix stopped in place, stunned.

Now they walked past the main office again, where Barkin and Burlson stood in the doorway. Burlson looked grimly satisfied. Was he pleased that so many students were witnessing this? Had he wanted to make this example, to show the students that no one was above the rules?

Mr. Barkin…

Mr. Barkin snapped a salute as they approached.

Burlson glared at the bigger man, but apparently decided that a much more direct defiance of his authority would take place if he complained, so he simply turned his attention back to the procession in front of him.

Kim stopped and gravely returned Mr. Barkin's salute. Ron just stopped.

Barkin immediately cut his hand to his side and stood at attention.

Then, the two teens turned, took the last few steps out the front door, and were gone.

Later, all of the students who had been there to see would wish that they'd had the presence of mind to say or do something, like Barkin had. If anyone deserved an "Oh, Captain, My Captain" moment, it was Possible and Stoppable.

----

They didn't stop at Bueno Nacho. Neither of them had much of an appetite. In fact, as Ron tried to joke, it was starting to look like lunch was just a bad time for them.

Neither of them laughed.

They ended up going to Kim's house. It seemed like a nice, safe, quiet, comfortable, familiar place to go to hide from the world for a while as they waited for parents to get home.

But it seemed that the day wasn't out of surprises for them. They'd no sooner opened the front door than a voice called from the living room:

"Excuse me, can we help you?"

"Dad?" Kim called back, confused. "What are you doing home so early?"

"Kim? We could ask you the same question, young – " Her father never finished his sentence. As soon as he appeared in the doorway from the hall to the living room, he caught sight of Kim's new look and froze. "Kimmie?"

"Is something wrong, honey?" Another voice called from the living room.

"Mom?"

Her mother appeared in the doorway as well, but instead of freezing, she rushed forward. "Oh, sweetie, what happened?"

Kim told herself that this hadn't happened because she'd done anything deliberately _bad_. It was the side-effects of trying to do good that had done this.

She'd just never thought she'd have to give them this particular bit of bad news.

"I got kicked out of school, Mom."

"What?" Both of her parents gasped at the same time.

Kim flinched.

"Both of us did," Ron said.

"But…why?" Her father asked, dazed.

"They said we put the other students in danger," Kim answered. "Because our enemies sometimes come after us at school."

Neither of them had an answer to that.

"And I know they have a point," Kim continued, her voice starting to break. "And I know that there are other schools out there that will take me, and I know I'm being ferociously selfish right now because Ron got expelled, too, but you know what I just can't stop thinking about?"

"What?" Her father asked quietly. Her mother just shook her head.

"Bonnie did this whole thing this summer to get me back to cheerleading – she tried to pretend that she was really looking out for the team, but…and now it's all wasted, because Middleton is the only place I could get on the cheer squad. I know it's silly, next to everything else, but – "

"It's not silly, baby," her mother said, drawing her into her arms. Her father quickly joined them, and, after a moment, so did Ron.

"This is outrageous," her father murmured. "They can't do this."

"Yes it is," Yet another voice said from the living room. "But they probably can."

Kim and Ron both whipped toward the new voice.

In time to see Dr. Director emerge from the living room.

"Ron," she said. "Kim." Her nod of greeting to Ron was cursory, but there was a certain grim recognition in the nod to Kim. An…equality that hadn't been there before. That nod, and the look in her single eye, said _Now we've both been marked by this life._

"I'm sorry to hear about it, and I wish I could say I was surprised," she continued. "But honestly, I'm only surprised it didn't happen sooner."

"Could you please give us a moment?" Kim's father asked angrily.

"I'm sorry Dr. Possible, but I'm afraid I can't."

Kim and Ron looked back and forth between them.

"So, uh…we don't need to introduce you?" Ron asked.

"She introduced _herself_ when she picked us up at our _jobs_," Mr. Possible answered, still glaring at Dr. Director. "We've been talking for the past hour about nothing substantial. What's so important _now_ that you can't – "

"It's okay, Dad," Kim interrupted before an argument could really get started. "It really is." Then she turned her attention to Dr. Director. "So we're needed?" She asked.

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

Kim took a deep breath. She swallowed hard and, with an effort of will, forced herself to calm down and put on her mission persona. "Okay. Mom, Dad, I guess we're going to have to postpone the pity fiesta. I – "

"You don't understand, Kim," Dr. Director interrupted. "I need _all_ of you."

**Author's Note: The correct way to pronounce the Masked Warrior's real name is "shih-vawn" or better yet, "shih-vaughn". Thus the nickname "Shim". Yes, the people responsible for inventing the written form of Gaelic were not only drunk, they were _mean_** **drunk.**


	3. Storm Watch

The Great American Desert (actually four deserts, but who's counting?) takes up a large portion of the Southwestern United States. Hundreds upon hundreds of square miles of empty space with very little in the way of human habitation or even visitors. It's a great place to go if you want a lot of privacy. After all, it's the kind of place where you can test atomic weapons and still have it be Top Secret.

In other words, it was the perfect neighborhood for one of the primary bases of Global Justice. Location, location, location, as they say.

The trip took less than an hour by GJ hoverjet, which Dr. Director piloted herself for some reason. As they traveled, she took the opportunity to start explaining what was going on.

----

"One year ago, almost to the day," she began. "All of our psi-ops – "

"Is that a word I should know?" Ron interrupted.

"Psychic operatives," Dr. Director explained.

"You have _psychics_ working for you?"

"Surely that doesn't surprise _you_, Mr. Stoppable?"

"Of course not!"

It _did_ surprise James and Colleen Possible. However, they kept that to themselves. Ron might be a bit gullible (he _still _refused to admit that professional wrestling was more theatre – albeit _very _impressive stage combat – than sport), but this "Dr. Director", who Kim and Ron both seemed to respect a great deal, apparently took her "psi-ops" very seriously.

More importantly, Kim didn't seem surprised, either. Apparently, Team Possible had dealt with the paranormal before, in one way or another (though why would it be particularly unsurprising to Ron?). That was good enough for them. Both of the elder Possibles were smart enough to realize that this was a situation that was well outside their areas of expertise, and that it was time to just pay attention.

"In fact," Ron continued, "It is so cool! Very Area 51."

"Thank you. Now – "

"Can they predict lottery numbers or stocks or anything like that?"

"Some _do_ work in the accounting department," Dr. Director replied. "But most are involved in something more _important!_" The last word was practically bitten off, and she snapped her head toward him just long enough to glare before she turned her attention back to her instruments.

Ron sank into his chair. Kim squeezed his hand and Mrs. Dr. Possible patted him on the shoulder. Both glared at Dr. Director's back.

But in addition to being angry, Kim was also worried. Dr. Director did _not_ lose her temper. Especially not over something as harmless as Ron's questions and comments, something she should be used to by now.

Still sitting rigid at the controls, Dr. Director took a deep breath. "I apologize for my curtness, Mr. Stoppable. But this is very important, and as you'll see when we arrive, I've had a very bad day. Now. One year ago, almost to the day, all of our Psi-ops had a massive, traumatic episode. We never did figure out exactly what they saw. Most were babbling things about a Supreme One and stillborn realities and even something about 'time monkeys' – "

Ron shuddered. "Monkeys. Can't be good."

She chose to ignore him entirely this time. "But since then, their visions have started to become clearer and more specific. First, they started to report a phenomenon that we refer to as the 'Event Horizon'."

This time, it was James Possible who interrupted: "Let me guess: after a certain point, they can't see _anything_, right?"

"Correct. We've contacted outside sources, and the reports have been consistent: a great deal of _very_ interesting activity, and then…nothing. It's like there's a wall that no one can see past."

"No one?" Colleen Possible asked.

"No one that we're aware of," Dr. Director answered. "And our contacts are quite extensive. As far as we can tell, no one on Earth with the ability to see into the future can see past the Event Horizon."

"Thus the name," Mr. Dr. Possible said, completing the logic. "Whatever's on the other side, light can't escape it."

"Exactly."

"Okay, who finds that extremely shuddersome?" Ron said, raising his hand.

Kim raised her hand, but otherwise pushed on. "Do any of them know when this Event Horizon is going to happen?"

"Ah. Straight to _the _question, of course." Dr. Director shook her head. "And the answer is no. No one can get an exact fix, but everyone _does _agree that it's approaching fast. In any case, the Event Horizon was just the first and most obvious thing that we discovered. As time passed, and the Event Horizon itself drew nearer, we began to learn details. For example, we learned that, whatever is going to happen, Shego plays a crucial role in it. That's part of the reason we accepted Drakken's deal: we wanted to study her, to see if we could learn anything about – or, better yet, prevent – whatever event is beyond the Event Horizon."

"Well, if she's so key to something you're trying avoid," Ron asked. "Why not just …y'know…do something illegal, immoral, and totally unethical to her?"

"Ron!" Kim swatted his leg. None of the other people in the hoverjet seemed shocked.

"No, it's a valid question," Dr. Director said. "The problem is that whenever someone even casually suggests such a thing – like you just did – the nearest psi-op goes into a screaming, foaming seizure. It gives us the impression that, however dangerous Shego may be, killing her would be even worse. Incidentally – " She glanced over her shoulder at the two teen heroes behind her. "Every single one of them went catatonic for a few minutes during your capture mission."

"It was a tough fight," Kim said, a bit too quickly.

"I'm sure it was." She watched Kim squirm for a moment longer – Ron was stone-faced – before she turned her attention back to her controls. "In any case, there's _also _the possibility that it just plain might not work. Last spring, about the time of the Diablo attack, our psi-ops and our other sources started to see the rest of Team Go in their visions as well. Of course, we've _always _had them under surveillance, but we started to study them a lot more carefully. We actually thought we were making some progress, though, in retrospect, I couldn't tell you exactly what kind." She sighed wearily as she started to take her hoverjet down. "Because, as you'll see, today it all went to Hell."

----

"Shiiiiiit."

Four heads turned to stare in shock. Ron just kept surveying the scene before him. He'd heard Rufus swear before.

"I'm right there with ya, buddy," He agreed. Then he turned his attention back to Dr. Director. "You weren't kidding when you said it all went to Hell," he said.

She hadn't been. He and Kim had seen worse – GJ headquarters was nowhere near as destroyed as Drakken's lair had been when they'd gone in to capture Shego – but it was still pretty bad. Cracks ran up concrete walls and down concrete floors. Pipes dripped, and scorches were visible here and there where something had caught fire. Lights flickered or buzzed at half strength in some hallways. A lab was sealed as agents in hazmat uniforms cleaned up spilled chemicals. Racks of tools and weapons and uniforms had spilled everywhere. Glass objects – including the huge monitor in the command center – lay in shards. Though it was clear that clean-up efforts had been going on for some time – the fires were out and the pipes weren't gushing, for example – the place was still a mess.

"What happened here?" Colleen Possible asked, sounding like she just wanted confirmation for something she already knew.

Kim didn't need confirmation. "Shego happened," she said grimly.

"Affirmative," Dr. Director said. Then she motioned for them to follow her. She led them through the debris-strewn room until she found a functional computer station, at which point she sat down and started typing. Normally, of course, she would signaled to one of the technicians to call up whatever she wanted them to see on the central monitor, but today was a bit different. Today, they'd seen Will Du wearing a welder's mask and cutting away a door-blocking mass of metal on their way in. Apparently, no one could be spared from the efforts to get the base back up and running to fly a plane that she could fly, or operate a computer that she could operate.

"Approximately three hours ago, Team Go's powers all manifested at the same time. Completely out of their control, and, with the exception of Shego…" She brought up the first picture. "Far more powerful than anything they've ever demonstrated before."

Pictures of a three-story-tall Mego sprawled in the wreckage of a wing of Go City PS 23 that had only been one story high.

Pictures of a large room of some kind stuffed to the rafters with unconscious Wegos. Most of them were the perfect copies they were supposed to be, but in some cases the replications had gone…wrong. Hands melded into flippers. Legs joined into a single slug-like appendage. Clone-pairs fused into Siamese twins. And in some places, where there had been nowhere for new clones to go to escape the press, no doors to spill out of, there was just…meat.

Pictures of Hego curled up in the ruins of Go City's largest Bueno Nacho.

"As you can see, it could have been much worse here than it is," Dr. Director said. "All of the safety measures we put on Shego – the energy siphons, the power dampeners, the shielding, the blast doors – they all did their jobs."

Ron and the Possibles all made amazed and dismayed noises. However, Rufus, who had jumped from Ron's pocket and stood on the workstation for a better view, suddenly squealed and tapped on the screen with his claw.

"Whatcha lookin' at, buddy?" Ron asked as all of them leaned in to see what he was pointing at. Dr. Director simply sat back and said nothing, letting them see for themselves.

One by one, their eyes widened.

"Is the time stamp on these pictures accurate?" Colleen Possible asked in a choked voice.

"Yes. And they were taken within minutes of the incidents."

"Allowing for time zones…" James Possible began.

"The earthquake you experienced this morning was actually Hego's seizure. Yes." Dr. Director said. "I told you that this morning's manifestation was more powerful than anything they've ever demonstrated before." With that, she got up out of her chair and started away across the room. "This way, please."

Still stunned, her guests had little choice but to follow.

----

They'd been understandably reluctant to enter the elevator, but Dr. Director assured them that it was one of the first things to be repaired. That was because it was the only connection to the deeper levels of the base, "where the _Top_ Secret operations are carried on."

She'd refused to elaborate.

----

"One of our most important 'outside experts' contacted us within minutes of the incident, and asked for this meeting," Dr. Director continued as the elevator descended. She smiled – a bit grimly, but there was some humor in it nonetheless. "I told him he'd have to reschedule, but he promised me some important insight into this very situation, and so here we are."

The elevator came to a stop and the door opened. That was a relief – it had descended far enough and fast enough (albeit perfectly smoothly and quietly) that all of their ears had been popping. The humans all swallowed hard, while Rufus put his paws to his ears and whimpered.

Dr. Director motioned for them to follow, then started down the steel-walled hallway. It would have gleamed if all the lights had been functional.

"So we did what Mr. Stoppable would most likely call 'the Men-in-Black thing'," She went on. "We brought in Team Go before they could wake up, we provided 'emergency medical attention' to all witnesses that effectively quarantined them for a few hours, and we confiscated as many cameras as we could." She stopped in front of a steel door and typed in a combination. "The world being what it is today, it'll all be on the six o'clock news anyway – " The keypad beeped and the door slid open with the hiss of an air-seal breaking. " – But at least we have a head start."

She paused before she went in. "I should warn you, though – our expert asked to meet with Team Go as well as you…_all_ of Team Go."

Kim and Ron's faces went grim. It took a moment longer for Dr. Director's meaning to sink in for the elder Possibles, but when it did, Colleen Possible started shaking her head.

"No. I'm sorry. I can't do this."

Without another moment's hesitation, she turned around and started for the elevator. James Possible paused just long enough to shoot Dr. Director an evil glare before he started off after his wife.

For the first time since Kim and Ron had known her, Dr. Elizabeth Director looked surprised. She turned to them, but they just shook their heads.

"Don't look at us," Ron said.

"They're my _parents_," Kim said. "What am I going to do, run after them and bring them back?"

"This is what happens when you save key information until it's too late to back out," Ron added. "Some people do anyway."

Some did. Or wanted to. But usually, she had some means of keeping them right where she wanted them. With Kim and Ron it was their nobility, with Bortel it had been the threat of weapons-trafficking charges, with Shego it was physical restraints, with Drakken it was Shego. Different tools for different situations. She'd thought Kim and Ron's presence and their own civic-mindedness would be enough for the doctors Possible.

Apparently, she'd misjudged the stress her request placed on them.

She really _was _having a bad day.

----

"Doctor Possible! Sir! Ma'am! Both of you, please!"

Because Kim Possible couldn't run after her parents and bring them back, Dr. Director had decided to do so herself.

The doctors Possible just kept walking. Dr. Director caught up and began walking half a pace in front of them, trying to catch their attention.

"Look, I'm sorry I sprung that on you," she said, her officer's dignity thrown to the winds. "I'm married to my job. I don't have a family. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you. But believe me, I wouldn't ask it of you if it wasn't crucially important."

"Why?" Colleen Possible asked, not even looking at her pursuer. "Why is it so important that you have to bring me down here to have _board meeting_ with the woman who tried to murder my daughter?"

"Because three hours ago, five superhumans had seizures that caused millions of dollars in property damage, and she's one of them," Dr. Director answered. "And we need a genius neurologist that we know we can trust."

That brought both of them to a dead stop.

Finally, she had their attention. "We got lucky this time," she said. "Very, very lucky. But it won't happen again. Next time, someone dies. I guarantee it." There it was. She could see it in their eyes. Like Mother – and Father – like daughter. She had them. Not that every word wasn't true. "_Please_ Dr. Possible," she said. "It's not just their lives at stake."

----

Kim sighed in relief as Dr. Director returned with her parents. She didn't doubt for a second that they'd been called here for the best and most important of reasons – would Dr. Director be holding a meeting in the middle of a damaged base for any less? But she didn't think her parents would have listened to that. Not from her, anyway. And Ron agreed with them. So it had been up to Dr. Director herself.

And here they were. Despite that one slip, she really _was_ good at her job.

"All right, everyone," she said as she led them through the door into a plushly-appointed conference room. "Please take a seat." She went to the head of the table, righted a chair that had been knocked over by the impact of Shego's seizure, and sat down.

The rest of them – after a moment's pause brought on by the sheer incongruity of finding a conference room that more properly belonged on the top floor of a New York skyscraper so far below the earth and just off that stark sterile hallway – obeyed.

There was a buzz at the door just as they finished settling in, and everyone stiffened.

Dr. Director took a deep breath and clasped her hands on the table in front of her. "Now," she said. "I have to ask _everyone_ – " her single eye fixed each of them in turn. "To please stay calm. The person about to enter this room is not the same person who attacked Kimberly this spring."

"You mean she's reformed?" James Possible sneered. "Found Jesus, maybe? Like they all seem to, right around the time of their parole hearings?"

"No," Dr. Director answered, shaking her head. "I mean she's not the same person."

Then she pressed a button on the table, and the door opened.

----

James and Colleen Possible hadn't believed a word Dr. Director had said. How could anyone change enough to say "they're not the same person" in a lousy three months? Especially when she'd never shown any indication of _wanting_ to change?

Their skepticism evaporated the instant the Global Justice agents outside led their prisoner into the room, replaced by utter shock and confusion.

Kim and Ron had a better idea of what Dr. Director meant, and they were _still_ stunned.

The person that the agents led into the room couldn't even remotely be mistaken for Shego.

She was wearing a green sweatsuit and soft slippers, but that was only to be expected, seeing as how she'd been brought in for psychiatric treatment. She wore heavy bracelet-like devices and a collar. Those were probably the power dampeners or energy siphons that Dr. Director had mentioned. She also wore handcuffs and leg shackles that were connected to each other with a length of chain, because she didn't _need _her powers to be dangerous.

All to be expected.

Her raven hair had lost its green tint, and her eyes were the color of night instead of emeralds, but all of that was cosmetic. Besides, the doctors Possible weren't familiar enough with Shego to notice.

The other difference, however, was extremely obvious.

Shego's most distinctive feature had always been her pale, green skin. Ron often described her as looking "minty". Now she was anything but pale, and the mint was more like cinnamon.

Kim and Ron both realized that they were seeing – actually _seeing_ – Sheila for the first time. They also realized why she'd only been able to understand Spanish the last time they'd met.

She'd apparently overcome that handicap, because as soon as the agents released her and retreated, she turned to the people at the table and spoke in English that was colored with a brassy accent much like Zita's, but flawless.

"I know that this doesn't mean a damn thing," She began. "But you still deserve to hear it. I – "

Colleen Possible held up her hand. Stop. "Don't." She said. "Please. Just don't say anything. I can be in the same room with you. I'm afraid that's going to have to be enough for today."

Sheila's mouth worked helplessly for a moment. Then she closed it, nodded sadly, and started for a chair.

That was when a much more familiar figure came running into the room. Everyone but Dr. Director leaped to their feet, but Drakken didn't seem to be looking for trouble.

"Sorry I'm late," he panted. "I was – "

"What's this?" Ron interrupted, pointing and shouting. "You just let Dr. Drakken wander around loose?"

"I'm hardly 'loose', Ronald," Drakken said. There was just a hint of superiority in his tone – he could probably sense that more would get him hurt. He patted the back of his neck. "I have a tracking chip, just like you do."

"I have a – "

"It tells them where I am at all times, it tells doors to slam in my face if I'm not cleared to walk through them…that sort of thing. Oh! One difference, though – I doubt that _your_ tracking chip has a poison reservoir."

_That_ brought a moment of silence. And as if to make the situation even _more_ uncomfortable, it was just then that a door opened at the other end of the conference room and Team Go marched in. They had kept more of their comet-altered tints than Sheila had, but they were still visibly her brothers.

They stopped in place as they came in the door and spotted her standing across the room.

Silence.

They hadn't seen her in over a year. Who knew how long it had been since they'd seen her like _this_? What was she going to do? Would she say something cutting, re-establishing the relationship that had been in place for years? Or –

Sheila, who'd been standing frozen in place since they walked in, her eyes eating up her face, suddenly broke into a joyous smile and held out her hands to them as best she could. "You're getting so _big!_" She said, her voice breaking.

That was enough for the Wegos, who broke out of their paralysis and raced across the room to engulf their sister in twin hugs.

They _were_ getting big. The last time Kim and Ron had seen them, the Wegos had come to their sister's shoulder. Now they looked down on her, if only slightly.

Mego, ever-mindful of his dignity, crossed the room at a brisk walk instead of a run. But when he caught up with his brothers, and they broke away so Sheila could look up at him with glistening eyes and say: "And how are you doing, _m'ijo_?", he threw his arms around her and hugged her no less effusively than they had.

----

Kim leaned in close and whispered to Ron: "Did she just mispronounce her own brother's _name_?"

Ron shook his head. "No, she called him '_m'ijo_. It means 'my son', but it's used kind of as a general term of affection. Zita calls me that all the time."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Should I jeal?"

" Nah. Wrong kind of affection. She's with that red-haired guy she met in drama class."

"So what would I be?"

"To Zita? Well, you could be _m'ij**a**_, which means 'my daughter', or _mami_ – "

"Mommy?"

"Which means exactly what it sounds like, but it's sometimes used as a general thing just like – see, there, Mego just did it. Heck, if she was bossy enough when she was little, her _parents_ – "

"No, Ron, wait. That's all very interesting, but – not to Zita. What would I be to _you_?"

Ron smiled "Oh. Well. That would be way diff. I'd start with _mi amor_, of course…"

Kim smiled back. After the sickness and wrongness that this day had been, she could deal with skipping the Go family reunion for the sake of some sweet nothings from her BF. "I think I can figure that one out," she said.

"And then I'd have to move on to _mi vida_ and _mi mundo_," He said, leaning in closer.

"Translation?" She asked, leaning her head into his.

"My life. My world."

Both of them whirled toward the source of the interruption.

Drakken leaned back in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes on Team Go instead of them. "I do believe that he means it, too, Kimberly," he went on. "He told Shego that's what you were just before he started to beat her to death."

"Shut up, Drakken!" Sheila snapped.

Full stop. Team Go – and the elder Possibles, who'd been paying most of their attention to Team Go's reunion – just looked back and forth between the blue scientist and Sheila, wondering where the heck _that_ came from.

Kim and Ron stared at Sheila in surprise as well, but for another reason. Drakken raised his hands in surrender and shook his head, then quietly folded them in his lap.

And Dr. Director just sat back in her chair, saying nothing and taking it all in.

Unpause. Attention returned to the Team Go family reunion.

"We heard you'd been captured," One Wego said.

"We wanted to come visit," The other added.

"But Hego – "

"Wouldn't let us."

Sheila looked questioningly at her elder brother, who was still standing across the room, his arms folded, and his face like a thundercloud. If anyone was expecting a whimpering excuse, they were surprised.

"That's right," He growled. "And if I had my way, we _still_ wouldn't be here."

Sheila glared at him, and for a moment, it was clear that Sheila and Shego weren't _completely_ separate.

"You turned your back on this family when we gave you every chance," Hego went on. "And then you brought disgrace down on us with – "

Sheila opened her mouth to retort, but – to everyone's surprise – Mego beat her to the punch: "Oh, sit down and shut up, Hector."

Hego started, his eyes bulging.

Dr. Director didn't look surprised, of course, and the doctors Possible hadn't interacted with Team Go enough to know that this was unusual. Kim and Ron, on the other hand, looked at each other and blinked, then at Sheila, and blinked again.

"Hector?" Kim asked.

"Nnh-hnh, Hector," Rufus called helpfully, nodding up from Ron's pocket. Apparently, he thought that his female human just hadn't heard right.

"That's right," Sheila answered, speaking to Kim, but grinning maliciously at…Hector. "Hector – "

"Shego, stop!" Hego shouted, rushing forward, reaching out for her.

"_Hector Alonzo Rodriguez Gomez_!" Sheila shouted, backing away from him, into the midst of her other brothers. "Just like _I'm_ Sheila Gomez, and _he_ – " She touched Mego's arm. "Is Miguel Gomez, and _they_ – " She nodded toward the Wegos. "Are Jesus and Jaime!"

Hego stopped midway across the room, his shoulders dropping in defeat.

Ron and all three Possibles looked back and forth between the two siblings like sleepwalkers at a tennis match.

"But…'Jesus' and 'Jaime' don't start with 'W'," Ron protested. It was all that anybody could think of to say.

"Oh, Shego," Hego said, in tones of noble despair. "What have you done?"

"Oh, come on, _Hector_," Sheila retorted. "Do you really think that these people – " She waved at Dr. Director. "Don't already know?"

Hego didn't answer, but it was clear from his expression that that was _exactly _what he'd thought.

"Hellooooo! I've been incarcerated here, remember? Several times! And the very first thing at the very top of the very first sheet in my file is my real name!"

"Well…" It took a moment, but Hego managed to puff his chest back out and rally his bluster. "It's one thing for the proper authorities to know," he said. "But now you've revealed our secret identities to civilians! If that information got out, it could destroy Team Go!"

"Destroy your little superhero fantasy, you mean," Sheila countered. Until that moment, she'd seemed to enjoy jerking Hego's chain. But now, she started to get mad. "Because that's what it was always about. You picked out our costumes, you picked out our names – and they were _stupid _names, did anyone ever tell you? Hego, Shego, Mego – you didn't even let Jesus and Jaime _have_ their own names! You just called them 'Wego', because you decided that suited them and their powers, even though – as even _Ron_ noticed – "

----

"Hey!" Pause. "Heyyyy…even _she's_ remembering my name now? Badical!"

----

" – their names don't start with 'W'!"

"But 'Jego' doesn't _mean_ anything!" Hego protested.

"And that didn't give you a clue that _maybe_ it was a stupid way to name us in general? Team Go, Go Tower – I don't know if you have no imagination at _all_, or if you were just in a hurry to get away from our real names."

Hego puffed up a little bit more. "Every superhero needs a secret identity," he said. "It's necessary to protect – "

"- that nice, whitebread, Captain America image you wanted to sell," Sheila interrupted. "I _know_ you loved what the comet did to _you_, but I bet you didn't mind what it did to _us_ either – after all, if your skin is red or purple or minty-fuckin'-_green_, no one can ever tell that it used to be brown!"

Until that moment, the other members of Team Go – of the Gomez family, apparently – had been standing back and letting their brother and sister go at it, as they always had. Sheila's attack widened their eyes a bit, though. Apparently, that was a bit farther than the fights usually went.

"Hey, now, wait a second," Mego said, starting forward. "Shego – "

Sheila's face snapped toward him, her eyes blazing. He raised his hands up into plain sight. "Sheila," he corrected. "Don't bring us into this. You two have been having the same argument since the comet hit, but – "

"And she never did understand," Hego interrupted hotly. "If we're All-American, we get to _be _heroes! If anybody found out who we really are, we become just a bunch of spics with _really big_ knives!"

Mego backed away precipitately. "Okay, I tried. Getting out of the way now."

Sheila turned her attention back to Hego. "Of course we would – to some people. The world is full of idiots. But not _everyone_ thinks like _you_ do. Hector."

Hego apparently didn't have an answer to that, at least not one he could come up with before she pushed on. Instead, he just clenched his fists and glowered.

"I had more reason to want to leave it behind than you did," She continued. "No one ever told _you_ that _cuando los hombres hablan en la sala, las mujeres se lavan las nalgas_. But we are what we are, and we shouldn't have had to hide it!"

Everyone in the room who could understand Spanish – including Ron, with the possible exception of Dr. Director – gasped.

Hego's face turned red and he stormed toward his sister, his back up like a cat and looming. "You watch your mouth!" He bellowed. "There are children here!"

Kim and Ron briefly wondered if he was talking about them, but the Wegos apparently knew better.

"Hey!" One shouted. "Miguel said – "

"Not to bring us – "

"Into this! And besides, I – "

"Don't think we're exactly _children_ anymore,"

"_Hector!"_

Having his name sneered at him by his youngest brothers seemed to be about enough for Hector Gomez. He shouted – something – and started forward, shaking a finger and shouting more things that only half of the people in the room understood.

The Wegos flinched, but stood their ground – although it looked like they weren't used to doing so.

Sheila, on the other hand – manacled as she was – stepped forward and blocked Hego's path, shouting her own retort in Spanish.

Hego and Sheila's accents had grown progressively thicker and thicker as the argument had grown hotter and hotter. Apparently, now that the situation was _entirely _out of control, they were going to continue the discussion in their native language.

Mego tried to step in between his elder brother and sister again, but when Hego shoved him out of the way, he started shouting his own grievances, and the Wegos piled in as well.

"HEY!" Every head in the room snapped toward the shouter.

Ron?

"_Es mal educado hablar Espanol en frente de gente que no entienden el idioma." _

Silence. Blink. Even Dr. Director was staring at Ron in amazement.

Kim resisted – just barely – the temptation to smirk. Maybe one of these days, people would stop underestimating her man. She almost hoped it wouldn't be too soon – when that day came, it would be much harder for Ron to spring his surprises. What was more, there was a certain satisfaction in being the only one who knew where the treasure was hidden.

Besides, she was grateful that he'd broken up that whole ugly confrontation. It had been making her several different flavors of uncomfortable. She had much less stomach for such things than for actual, physical fights (in fact, her stomach was feeling a bit sick right now), and the things they'd been arguing about reminded her a bit too much of that letter Ron had received…

Mego and the Wegos looked at each other, their siblings, and their observers, apparently embarrassed by the realization that they'd just aired some _extremely_ dirty laundry in front of strangers. Sheila looked embarrassed, too, but she was still mostly glaring defiantly at Hego. Hego…looked furious. But as he noticed his audience, he quickly calmed down and resumed what he must have believed to be an air of commanding confidence.

Too quickly.

For the first time, Kim got the impression that maybe his usual ridiculous behavior wasn't the result of stupidity – well, not _just_ stupidity – but the performance of a hammy actor in a melodramatic role. It was an ill-fitting public mask, not his real face.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Stoppable," Dr. Director said, breaking the silence. "It _is_ quite rude. And I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Gomez…" She paused. "I'm sorry, but may I call you 'Hector'? After all, there are four Mr. Gomezes here."

"Please, Dr. Director," he said in his best attempt at Gracious and Suave. "Call me Hego."

The eyebrow over Dr. Director's functional eye went up, but Hector Gomez didn't seem to notice. If he didn't realize that her question was a subtle way of letting him know that she wasn't interested in playing "superheroes" anymore, he was the only one.

"Very well. Hego. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you were a group of people who could smash buildings, form your own army, carry an essentially infinite amount of artillery in a completely mobile and concealable form and, most frightening of all – " She pointed at Mego. Mego gestured at himself and mouthed "Me?" in total astonishment. _He_ was most frightening?

" – infiltrate anywhere completely undetected," She finished. "On an official level, we _never_ trusted you. It wouldn't have mattered if your _natural_ skin colors were blue, green, and purple."

Hego looked crestfallen. Sheila looked smug.

Just then, there was another buzz at the door. "Ah," Dr. Director said. "It appears that our outside expert has arrived." She pressed the same button on the table that had admitted Sheila.

Kim and Ron weren't enormously surprised when Sensei entered, accompanied by Yori. It was no great surprise that the two secret organizations should know of each other, and who else would be an "independent expert" in serious weirdness?

There were a few things that _did_ surprise them, though.

Sensei wasn't leaning on a walking stick, nor was Yori supporting him. Somehow, though, he gave the impression of both. He walked as if he was carrying a tremendous weight, and as if he was dreadfully weary of carrying it. For the first time since Ron had known him, Master Sensei seemed…fragile. Small. He seemed _old_.

But there was power in him yet, and presence. As he crossed the room, oh so slowly and carefully, everyone was brought out of their seats and to their feet by the sense of the man's immense dignity. Even Dr. Director.

Finally, about halfway across the room, he reached his goal. He stopped, and, with that same immense dignity and gravity, he bowed.

To Drakken and Sheila.

**Author's Note: I went into a few touchy subjects in this chapter, and I'm afraid there will be more in the next. I hope I don't offend anyone, but I've read quite a few stories where Shego's original name is (understandably) Gomez or Gonzalez, but none that dealt with the implications of that. I just figured it had to be done.**


	4. Storm Warning

To their credit, Drakken and Sheila immediately returned the bow – Sheila in proper martial-artist style, Drakken like an English butler. But when they straightened, they looked just as confused as anyone else in the room.

"I see," Sensei said as he – slowly, and with great care for his back – straightened. "That many of you are confused by my actions." He nodded toward Team Go. "Others of you are angered – " He nodded toward the doctors Possible. "And some of you even feel betrayed." He nodded toward Kim, Ron, and Rufus. "But all I have done is give honor to two warriors who have spent years in the struggle against a great evil."

Drakken raised a hand. "Um…excuse me, Mr., ah…"

"Sensei," the old man answered. "I have left the name I was given at birth behind, so I would not be tempted to seek glory for that name. Now, I have become my role."

"Ah, yes, well, um…Mr. Sensei. I think you may have the wrong people. You see, _we're_ – well, _I'm_ evil, and she was until recently."

"Ah yes?" Sensei asked. "I see." He shook his head sadly, and turned to Kim and Ron. "Poor Possible-san and Stoppable-san. You must be truly resilient to have endured the rape and torture you were subjected to as his prisoners and come through with your spirits so intact."

Kim and Ron blinked and stared at him in confusion. What was he talking about?

"What?" Drakken squawked. "But – what are you – I never – "

"No?" Sensei said, turning on him sharply. "You are ruthlessly efficient, then, instead of cruel. How fortunate for Possible-san and Stoppable-san: the mercy of a quickly slit throat or a bullet to the brain. Much better than the alternative."

"Um…but…" Drakken protested weakly, pointing over Sensei's shoulder.

Sensei turned to see where the mad scientist was pointing, and seemed surprised to find the very-much-alive Ron and Kim standing there, with Rufus waving from Ron's pocket.

Sensei gave the peace and love salute in return, then turned back to Drakken with an astonished look on his face. "Truly, you are amazingly merciful for one so wicked! They must be extremely resourceful to have escaped their secure bonds and prisons, and your many guards, even after you had stripped them of their tools!"

No longer able to even protest, Drakken just looked at Sheila, who could only shrug helplessly. They were stunned by two things: the truths he was telling them, and the eerie similarity to a conversation they'd had among themselves three months before.

Sensei raised an eyebrow. "Or did you consistently leave them fully-equipped and poorly-secured in unguarded prisons and inefficient death traps?"

"Uh, yes," Drakken said. It was hard to tell, but it looked like he was blushing. "That's it right there. That's what we did."

"I see. You seem singularly unsuited for your chosen profession, Lipsky-san. The wicked need not be clever, or strong, or brave. But they must be merciless. One wonders how much you truly wished to succeed."

He turned back to Kim and Ron. "Understand, Possible-san, Stoppable-san, that I mean to take nothing away from your heroism. The odds were always against you, and only great courage and determination allowed you to create victory out of the slight openings that he left for you. Truly, they were but a single scale missing from the dragon's armor. I merely propose that, where you previously believed that you were taking advantage of your enemy's incompetence, you were actually taking advantage of a quite different psychological weakness."

He looked around at his audience, who were all some combination of confused, stunned, or lost in thought. All except Yori, whose face was impassive, and Dr. Director, who had long ago picked up the knack of simply absorbing information as it came and not struggling to make it fit with her preconceptions.

"I will explain fully," he said. "But in my own way. Everyone please have a seat. This may take some time."

----

Sensei sat at the opposite end of the table from Dr. Director, with Yori at his right hand. Hego sat at his left, apparently having decided that Sensei was the one who was _really _running the meeting, therefore his end of the table was the _real_ head, and so that was where he, Hego, would sit. Mego sat beside him, then the Wegos, then Sheila, and finally Drakken, who found himself sitting – to his surprise and discomfort – at Dr. Director's right hand. Kim, with her front-of-the-classroom instinct, sat on the _other_ side of Dr. Director, making the situation still _more_ uncomfortable. Ron sat beside her, of course, then her parents. Rufus sat on the table itself, in front of Ron.

Sensei took a moment to survey his audience. Then he began: "Dr. Possible," He said.

Both heads turned.

"Sir," he clarified.

"Yes?"

"What is your belief in regards to magic?"

Mr. Dr. Possible just stared back at him. "You're serious?" He asked.

"As Stoppable-san would say, 'note serious face'. The answer is actually quite important."

Clearly confused by the question, James Possible struggled for an answer. "Uh…well…" finally, he just shrugged. "I'm a scientist," he said. "To me, calling something 'magic' is the same as giving up."

Sensei steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Interesting," he said. "Please elaborate."

In unconscious imitation of the older man, James Possible steepled his fingers and frowned in thought. After a moment, he laid his hands back down on the table and turned back to Sensei with clear decision on his face. "Where are you from, Mr. Sensei?" He asked.

"Japan."

"I don't know how much of an issue this is in Japan, but in the United States, there's a powerful political movement devoted to forcing science teachers to give the idea that life on Earth is the result of a miracle at least equal time with the idea that it developed by scientific processes. Now, there are other cases where science gets politicized – mostly in environmental issues – and other popular pseudoscientific beliefs out there, but this is one of the most powerful, and one of the most damaging. I'm a rocket scientist, not a biologist, but I do what I can for this particular conflict – donate money, sign petitions, what-have-you – because it strikes at the foundations of science itself."

Sensei leaned forward. "And that is?"

"The foundation of science is: 'I don't know. Let's find out.' Replace that with 'I don't know, it must be a miracle' or 'magic', and science ceases to exist." He leaned back in his chair and waved at the other side of the table. "I'm in a room full of things I can't explain, here. Where does Sheila get the energy for her plasma blasts? Where does the material for Jesus and Jaime's clones come from? How does Hector's body withstand the stresses that his super strength puts on it?"

At the end of the table, Hector Gomez gritted his teeth in frustration, but James Possible didn't notice as he pushed on.

"And just _what_ in the name of Almighty _God_ on his _Throne_ happens to Miguel?" He finished. "I don't know. I'll probably _never _know, because the experiments that would be necessary to find out would be grossly unethical. But that doesn't mean I'm about to give up and call it 'magic'."

Drakken and Colleen Possible were both nodding. The younger four Gomez siblings were all staring in fascination. They'd never thought of _any_ of this. They'd just taken it for granted: Comet Radiation equals Super Powers. Maybe their brother's comic book, superhero logic had affected them more than they liked to think.

Dr. Director and Yori were still impassive, and Sensei had that unreadable, watchful look on his face.

"I see," Was all he said.

By this point, Kim and Ron were both squirming. They'd seen Mr. Dr. P get into arguments with the Unscientific before, and it was never pretty. The _last_ thing they wanted was for him to get into such an argument with Master Sensei. This whole sitch was already ugly enough. But it looked like he was bracing himself for just that.

Then, Sensei gave a slight smile.

"What if you were confronted with someone performing deeds that had all of the characteristics of true magic?" He asked.

James Possible shrugged. "Like I said, 'I don't know' is a valid answer in science. If I had to guess – and it _would _be just a guess – I'd say that the magician was tapping into some unknown energy source." He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, that would be my guess about the Gomez family, too."

Hego glowered at him, but the rest of the family leaned in eagerly, and Sensei's smile broadened.

"And if I were to tell you that the 'energy source' of which you speak is an outside entity?"

Dr. James Possible shrugged and gave the only answer a scientist could give: "I would ask you to introduce me," he said.

Sensei _beamed_. "But Dr. Possible," he said. "That is why we have brought _you_ here."

----

Sensei raised a hand before anyone could start asking questions. "In my own way," He said. "Patience."

The rest of the people at the table managed to bite back their questions, but some were noticeably impatient. The Gomez family in particular – this old man apparently had some answers about the nature of their powers, and he was acting like every Inscrutable Old Master in every martial arts B-movie ever made!

Kim, Ron, and Rufus were used to that behavior, and the other people at the table were oddly comforted by it. It was a familiar frame of reference for them to deal with at least.

When he was sure he wouldn't be interrupted, Sensei continued:

"In many cultures in the ancient world, there was the myth of the primordial god-monster," he began. "The chaos-beast who lived in the darkness before the world. The first task of the gods was to defeat this creature so their new order, the world in which humans can survive, could come into being. The people of northern Europe called this creature Ymir. To a student of astronomy," He nodded toward Mr. Dr. P. "I'm sure that the Greek name Ouranos is more familiar, and perhaps even the Babylonian names of Tiamat, and her consort Apsu."

James Possible nodded. They were. How could he not have at least _some_ interest in the people who had _invented _astronomy?

"The mistake that most of the world has made," Sensei continued, "From the first tellers of those stories until this very day, was to believe that it was over. The chaos-beast was slain by the gods and its body used to build the world, or it was crippled and driven into the outer darkness, never to return. The new order had come, and we had only to concern ourselves with our…'modern' gods and devils, if you even believed in such things at all."

"Some few of us have always known better. The god-monster _was_ defeated, but not slain. It _was_ banished to the darkness between the stars…but forever is a long time, and no prison is unbreachable. The ancients knew this, and formed warrior-orders to stand watch against its return. Yamanouchi is one of them – the last, I fear. We have spent endless generations accumulating knowledge and weapons for a day that we hoped would never come."

He paused, then sighed and looked down at the table. This was news he clearly didn't enjoy giving. Kim and Ron tightened their grips on each other's hands. Whatever could harsh Sensei's chill like that was Not Good.

"But it has. One year ago, something happened that warped and damaged reality itself. We do not know what. All that we can ascertain is that Mystic Monkey Power was involved somehow: its abuse caused the damage, and its use repaired it. But the harm had already been done. The prison had been weakened _just_ enough. This spring, the creature that my order knows as the Unshaper broke free and began to move toward the Earth."

Silence. Total, _very_ uncomfortable silence.

Kim and Ron knew Master Sensei, and they believed him. They couldn't be terrified about it all just now, however. They were too worried about something else: to anyone who _didn't_ know Sensei, and who _hadn't_ witnessed the Mystic Monkey Power and the Lotus Blade and many other such things, this all had to sound – not to put too fine a point on it – batshit crazy.

When Mr. Dr. Possible finally broke the silence, their fears were confirmed: "Mr. Sensei, I don't wish to be rude, but we were brought here at a very bad time, because we were told it was crucially important that we be here. We're sitting in a room with the two people on Earth that we genuinely hate, and we're being polite about it. But my patience with this whole situation is starting to wear thin. Now, I've already told you my problems with taking ancient myths for science. Given that, do you really expect me to simply accept yours?"

Once again, the old magician surprised the scientist.

"On the contrary, Dr. Possible," he replied. "I am here to request – no, to beseech – you to investigate. Unlike those who choose their beliefs over the scientific evidence, I most sincerely wish to be proven wrong. But if I am right, you must be our reconnaissance. You must be the one to tell us where and when."

For the first time since Sensei had arrived, Dr. Director spoke up: "I can personally assure you, Dr. Possible, that the deadlines on any government projects you're currently working on will be adjusted to allow for this, and that you'll have all the funding you need."

James Possible was taken aback. Before he could reply, Mego spoke up.

"Yeah, that's great for him," the middle Gomez brother said impatiently. "And it's all very interesting. But as far as I can tell, it's all one big non sequitur. What does it have to do with _us_?"

"Isn't it obvious, Mego?" Hego asked, puffing up into his full superhero persona. "The world is threatened, and they've called the one team they knew could help: Team Go!" He thumped his fist on the table for emphasis. The way he said the last two words, you could easily see them in your mind, spelled out in neon, or perhaps even fireworks.

Sensei looked quietly back and forth between both brothers. Then he turned his attention to Colleen Possible.

"Doctor Possible. Madam." He said.

"Yes?"

"Does it seem likely to you that a single comet, even one made up of many different-colored ores and stones, could grant such vastly different powers to such genetically-similar people?"

Colleen Possible was silent for a long moment as she considered the question. When she finally started speaking, it was very slowly and carefully. "First of all, you have to understand," she began. "That there are whole branches of science involved in that question that I know nothing about. My only real answer is 'I don't know'. If I were to guess…and it _is_ a guess…I would say 'no'." She looked up and down the other side of the table, at each member of the Gomez family. Even Sheila. "Actually, I would think that radiation from a comet would be more 'likely' to give someone cancer than superpowers. But here they sit. Still, it's very odd – they were all exposed to the same materials at the same time, but…well, here they sit. To be honest, it's like…if they _did_ get sick after the comet strike, but one of them had a liver fluke, one malaria, one Sickle-Cell, and the twins brain cancer."

"Ah," Sensei said. "And if a group of patients _did_ come to you, blaming such a wide variety of ailments on a single source?"

"I'd look for other factors."

Sensei nodded. "As would I."

"Wait,"

"Are you saying"

"That the Comet"

"_Didn't_ give us"

"Our powers?" The Wegos asked.

"I am saying that I do not believe that any mindless natural phenomenon could bestow such a variety of impossibilities. However, I also do not believe that what bestowed those impossibilities is mindless, or even really a part of nature."

The three scientists at the table frowned as the younger four Gomez siblings looked at each other worriedly. The Wego sitting closer to Sheila (Jaime?) actually took her hand.

"I think that might be a bit of a jump in logic," Colleen Possible protested.

"It is," Sensei agreed. "And I most sincerely hope that I am wrong. I am as one who is tested for a fatal disease, Dr. Possible. The best result is a negative one, but we must prepare for positive."

Hego was frowning, but not for the same reasons as Drakken and the Doctors Possible. "I'm still not sure I understand what you're saying," he said. "Did the Comet give us our powers or not?"

Sensei showed no outward signs of impatience. Nonetheless, he apparently realized that riddles and hints were useless teaching tools for the eldest Gomez brother: "I do believe that the Comet bestowed your powers. However, I do not believe that your 'Comet' was a mere piece of ice, metal, and rock drifting through space. Imprisoned or not, the Unshaper has never been entirely helpless. It has always watched and hated from the emptiness between the stars, yearning to return the world to the silence and darkness of Before. Every so often, it has been able to send fragments of its Self and its power out into the world to further that end. You and your siblings were touched and transformed by that power. To what purpose, I do not know, and I hope not to learn. However, as the Unshaper approaches and your power grows beyond your control – "

"Wait," Hego interrupted, shaking his head and waving a hand at Sensei to stop. "Wait, wait, wait. You're saying that the _Go Team Glow_…is evil?"

Sensei seemed to ponder that for a moment, then nodded. "You say it more simply and clearly than I would have thought to, Hego-san. Your power is the Unshaper's, and so it is evil."

Hego sprang to his feet, sending his chair rolling across the room. "I knew it! This is a trick! Some supervillain's attempt to brainwash us! We must escape! AAAAHHHH!" With a shout, he charged the nearest door. Kim, Ron, Rufus, the doctors Possible, and Drakken all leaped to their feet. The three scientists retreated, as is probably wise for ordinary people in the same room as a panicking superhuman. Kim and Ron stepped forward defensively. Sensei, Dr. Director, and Yori just sat impassively while Team Go watched their brother freak out with no more reaction than rolled eyes and sighs of exasperation.

Hego punched the door and, to no one's surprise but his own, tore through the steel like it was tissue paper. He stumbled across the hallway and crashed into the opposite wall, denting that as well.

He caught himself before he could fall, shook his head, then turned around and came back into the doorway, looking around the room in confusion, clearly wondering why no one was either chasing him or following him.

"You're paying for that, Hego," Dr. Director said. "That door wasn't even locked."

"I…I expected more resistance," Hego said, as if that explained everything. "Adamantium or something."

"Dude, there's no such thing as adamantium," Ron said.

"Actually, there is," Dr. Director corrected. "But it's far too expensive to use as a building material."

Sensei ignored them both. "Nothing constrains you, Hego-san," he said, not even turning his chair to face the bigger man. "You may leave any time you like. Even if we wished to, we could not stop you if you chose to go. However, if you do so, you will learn no more about your family's power."

"What am I supposed to learn?" Hego said, storming back to the table. "That the source of my family's power is some giant space monster? That's insane."

"And yet it is true. The Unshaper, in its many aliases, was known as not only a god-monster, but a parent of monsters – even other god-monsters. Ymir sired the Jotun; Ouranos the Hundred-Handed Ones and the Cyclopes; and Tiamat gave birth to the Elder Gods, as well as a horde of monsters to send into battle against the younger gods. I do not know why the Unshaper chose to indulge your fantasy of superheroism when it remade you, but – "

"Now, wait just one second," Hego growled, leaning forward. He seemed to be resting his fists on the table, but after a moment it became clear that they were slowly sinking in. Was Hego capable of a threat that subtle, or was he just too angry to pay attention to his own strength? "Are you calling my family monsters?"

"Not of your own choice," Sensei answered, unperturbed. "Indeed, you are victims here. But the Unshaper may intend to use you for some purpose of its own, and even if it does not, the mere fact that you are conduits for its power makes you a danger for those around you – as this morning demonstrated."

"No," Hego said, shaking his head again. "You're wrong. I don't know what happened this morning, but it has nothing to do with your…alien. We're heroes. We use our power for Good. It's not the Glow's fault that Shego got more and more fascinated with the evil every time she fought it, until she decided that she preferred it."

"_What?_" Sheila flared. "Is _that_ what you've been telling people all this time?"

"It's the truth!" Hego said. "One day you just left us, for _no_ reason, and the next time we heard from you, you were a supervillain! What else could it be?"

Sheila just stared at her elder brother for a long, long moment. "My God, you really believe that, don't you?" she said quietly. Hego didn't answer, and she remained silent for another long moment. "Do you want to know why I left?" She asked. "Do you really want to know why?" Hego still didn't answer. In fact, he turned his attention back to Sensei.

Sheila turned _her_ attention across the table. "Hey, Kim," she called.

Kim – who'd still been standing on her guard, watching Hego, jumped and turned to face the Gomez sister. "What?" She asked suspiciously.

"Ever heard of machismo?" Sheila asked.

"Of course I have," Kim answered.

"Know what it means?"

"Of course I do," Kim said, wondering where the former supervillain was going with this.

"See, I don't think you do," Sheila said, slowly rising to her feet, the usually-simple process complicated by her manacles. "Not really. You just know the dictionary definition."

"And just how do you know that?" Kim snapped, thinking of Darren Edwards.

Sheila looked up at her sharply, then nodded. "Okay, so maybe you've had a taste of the real deal. But I still think I know more about it than you do. Remember that little quote that shocked everybody who could understand it?"

"Yes," Kim answered. "Something about the _hombres_ – "

"_Cuando los hombres hablan en la sala, las mujeres se lavan las nalgas_. Right." Sheila said. "It means 'When the men are talking in the living room, the women are washing their asses'."

The doctors Possible both gasped. Ron and most of the Gomez family – Yori too, actually – winced. Hego tightened his grip on the table. It creaked as his fingers sank into it.

Kim…looked puzzled. It certainly _sounded _horrible, she'd definitely be insulted if someone said that to _her_, but…

Sheila laughed. She actually _laughed_. It was a deep, rich sound, totally unlike Shego's rare, harsh snickers. "Bless that confused expression, _querida_, you _shouldn't_ get it! It means that when the men are taking care of business, the women are getting themselves ready to fuck."

Kim could feel her face catching fire.

Chuckling, Sheila began to circle around the end of the table, behind Dr. Director. "The boys in the old neighborhood used to say that to me if I got too bitchy, if that gives you an idea of what I'm talking about. My little brothers weren't poisoned with it, thank God, but my _papi _had a case." She patted James Possible's shoulder as she passed his seat. He flinched and turned to stare at her. "You don't know how lucky you are, Kim. I loved my _papi_ very much, rest his soul – "

"Rest his – "

"He and mom didn't get superpowers from the comet," Mego said. "All that happened to them is what usually happens when a rock falls from space and hits you."

"Oh," Kim said, "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Sheila said, then quickly pushed on. "I loved him very much, and I was proud of him, too. That's part of the reason I get so angry with Hector for his whitebread act."

_Creak_. Hego's fingers sank further into the table.

"He owned a construction company. But he played it smart: he didn't just _build_ duplexes and apartment houses and little subdivisions – he was the landlord, too." She swallowed hard. "We'd just moved out of the old neighborhood and into the new house that spring…he built that treehouse for Jesus and Jaime with his own hands that summer." She paused and shook the memory out of her head. "Anyway, there was nothing I wanted more than to go to work with him. I didn't care what job, as long as I got to do _something_, and be there with _him_. But he wasn't having any of that. No daughter of his was going to be hanging around construction sites – he wanted me at home: cooking, cleaning, and taking care of Jesus and Jaime." She stopped and smiled sadly back over her shoulder. "You know, developing the skills I was _really _going to need, later in life." Then she turned back to face Hego, who she'd reached by now, and her face hardened. "So yeah, our _papi_ had a case of it. Most of my brothers managed to escape infection, but there was one who got it bad."

Hego said nothing. He didn't even look up from the table.

"Tell me something, Hector," Sheila said, finally addressing him directly. "How did you like it that time that Aviarius stole your powers and gave them to Kimmie over there?" She nodded back over her shoulder. "I mean, here's this skinny little _gringa_ with _your_ super-strength, and you had to act all polite and helpful and noble and deferential about it, because that's how one of your comic-book characters would act. And then _I_ show up, and suddenly there are _two mujeres_ in the picture who can kick your ass. And then _I_ get _all _of the Glow…! And you know something Hector?" She leaned in close, and stage-whispered into his ear. "I _let_ Kimmie take the staff away. I _gave_ you your powers back. If I'd wanted them, I'd still have them. But it took that same skinny little _gringa_ to get them back for you, because _you_ were too busy cowering and whimpering. Now doesn't that just feel like somebody cut your balls off and stuffed them in your mouth?"

Hego answered that with a hard backhand.

Sheila had apparently expected it, because she leaned back out of the way, then ducked beneath the roundhouse that followed it. Then she threw herself up and back to avoid what looked like a right uppercut, but instead Hego caught her connecting chain where it joined her handcuffs, and he lifted her up off the floor, drew back his blue-glowing left fist and –

_BLAM!_

Kim, who'd been flipping across the room, let herself fall to the floor instead of completing the flip. Ron, who'd been charging behind her, turned his run into a headlong dive beneath the table while Rufus plastered himself flat to the tabletop. The doctors Possible covered their heads and the Gomez siblings – six Wegos and a seven-foot-tall Mego (apparently they'd been activating their powers with the intention of stepping between their brother and sister) – leaped back.

Dr. Drakken lowered his gun from the ceiling and pointed it at Hego, his feet set in a comfortable shooter's stance, both hands gripping the handle steadily.

Dr. Director just clutched her empty shoulder-holster and stared at Drakken in astonishment. She knew for a fact that no one had ever seen Drew Lipsky move so fast.

"You're fifteen feet away from me, Hector," Drakken said, sounding chillingly lucid. "And that stupid pose you're striking makes you a perfect target. Care to test my marksmanship? Given what it did to the ceiling," He nodded toward the dinner-plate-sized hole through the steel, into the concrete beneath. "I think that whatever's in this gun will take your head off, Glowing or not."

"Of course it will," Dr. Director said, sounding more annoyed than anything else. "Did you think I'd come into this meeting with any less? Now give it back." Her hand had disappeared beneath the table. "You have ten seconds before the fail-safe in your chip activates, and your nervous system melts."

Hego suddenly felt two iron-hard fingertips press against the back of his neck, and his left arm flopped uselessly to his side, the Glow winking out. "Put down the weapon, Lipsky-san," Sensei said calmly. "Hector is releasing his sister."

"Hector." Not "Hego-san". If Hego missed the significance, he was the only one who did.

Hego set Sheila carefully down on the floor.

Drakken set the gun down on the table.

Dr. Director pulled her hand out from underneath it.

Everyone started to breathe again.

Kim and Ron picked themselves up off the floor. Mego shrunk back down to five-foot-ten or so, and all but two of the Wegos disappeared. Drakken collapsed back into his chair and put his head between his knees. Sensei hopped down from his chair, brushed his footprints off it, and sat back down.

Sheila took a step back and looked up at her brother, giving no indication that she was even aware that she'd been one left jab away from losing everything from the neck up.

"That's why I left, Hector," she said. "Because I knew that if I stayed, one of us would end up dead. I wasn't evil when I broke up your little superhero playgroup. Not yet."

With that, she turned and started walking back around the table to her seat.

As Hego watched his sister walk – hobble, really – away, he noticed that everyone was looking at him. Everyone except Shego and that Lipsky fellow, anyway. Normally, he would like that just fine, but this time they were all looking at him…funny. Were they _glaring_ at him? Were they blaming _him_ for this?

"Hey now," he said, holding up his hands defensively. "Wait a second! You can't just take everything she says at face value! She's a supervillain! She'd just love to set the Good Guys against each other."

"Hector," Jesus said.

"She's making a…a whole big case out of nothing! All siblings fight!"

"Hector," Jaime said.

The glares weren't going away. "I know I was a little…out of control, activating the Glow, but wasn't this whole meeting about the problems _all_ of us were having with keeping control?"

"I thought there _were_ no such problems, Hector," Sensei said quietly. "Just an isolated incident this morning."

Hego stopped short, his mouth working helplessly.

"Hector," Miguel said, his voice breaking the sudden silence. "Sit down and shut up."

Hector Gomez stared back at his brothers, and for a moment, it looked like the big man might actually cry. "She left!" He wailed. "I stayed! I tried to keep this team – " Stop. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again and continued, it was with much less bluster. "…this _family_…together."

Then the last Gomez sibling spoke, and she was very quiet, as if – finally, after all the years – she was too tired to be angry with her big brother any more. "Hego," She said. "Sit down."

He did.

----

"Now. Sheila-san," Sensei said as Sheila took her seat. "Please tell us what happened after you left your family."

She hesitated for a moment, frowning in thought. She tried to raise a hand, perhaps to scratch her head or run her fingers through her hair, but of course she couldn't.

"You know, after that point, it gets a little hazy," she said. "I could've lived on my savings and my inheritance, but I tried to keep busy. Some extreme sports, some martial-arts competitions…I could've gotten a job as a pilot or maybe opened my own dojo, but I knew that I wasn't really suited for those jobs. I was so…_angry_ all the time."

Sensei nodded, as if he'd expected that.

"So I took jobs as a bouncer or bodyguard…and as time went by, I started taking jobs where the bouncing or bodyguarding was liable to involve some _real_ action, even if those jobs were kinda shady."

Sensei nodded again.

"And then one night…" She paused and smiled nostalgically. "And I remember this pretty well…one night, I was in this bar – not bouncing or anything, just having a drink – when this older guy comes up to me and just starts babbling. He doesn't even smell like booze, he's just _nervous_. _So_ nervous that I have to sit him down and get him a drink so he won't pass out on me."

"I wasn't _that_ bad," Drakken protested.

"You were worse," Sheila retorted. "But once you had that first beer in you, you started to settle, and we started to talk. As much as you _can_ talk in a crowded bar on a Saturday night. Eventually, I go off to the Ladies' room, and when I come back, I find that a bunch of guys aren't happy that I'm talking to Drew instead of them, and that maybe stomping him is the way to get my attention." She frowned again. "Is that when you got your scar?"

"I…think, maybe…?" Drakken answered, touching the scar and looking confused that he didn't know for sure.

"Anyway," Sheila continued, her expression darkening. "Once they got my attention, they didn't want it. I got Drew out of there before the police arrived and took him to get stitched up – yeah, I guess that _was_ when you got your scar - and then I took him home. I probably should have gone home myself, but it was four in the morning, and I just crashed." She grinned wryly. "Drew didn't know how to handle waking up with a woman in his bed, even a fully-clothed one."

"You said you _liked_ the breakfast I made you!" He protested.

She just raised an eyebrow at him.

"I know that you wanted coffee and all I had was cocoa-moo, but still…"

"_Anyway_," She cut him off. "We talked some more. To my surprise, we spent the next few _days_ talking. I told him about my brothers, he told me about these asshole friends he had in college who picked on him so much for one little mistake that he didn't even _try_ and make any new friends after he switched schools…"

James Possible swallowed hard and lowered his head a little.

"…you know, we opened up. Then, finally, nature took its course…"

"_WHAT?"_ Hego bellowed.

"Don't say a word, Hector," Mego cut him off.

Sheila turned her head to hide her grin from her brother, and happened to notice that several other members of her audience were making faces like they'd just heard the gorchiest thing of their lives.

"What?" She asked.

"Please tell me you're kidding," Kim said.

"Hey, he was a sweet, gentle, bumbling geek. I don't think I'm the only woman in this room who sees the appeal."

Suddenly, _both_ Possible women were blushing, and _neither _could meet her challenging gaze.

Then Sheila turned back to Sensei, and her face clouded over. "After that…actually, I don't remember much after that."

"As I suspected," Sensei said. "Because it was not long after that Shego, as the world knows her, became dominant."

"How can you be so sure of _that_?" She asked.

"I have information sources that Dr. Director only wishes she could use," Sensei answered, nodding toward the opposite end of the table. "But part of it was also what you might call 'good old-fashioned detective work'. Although Drew Lipsky is a good bit older than Sheila Gomez, there was no Dr. Drakken before there was a Shego. Now I know how he became infected with the Unshaper's energies."

The mad scientist and the ex-mercenary both blushed.

"You make it sound like an STD…" Sheila muttered.

Sensei didn't answer that, but Ron suddenly looked horrified. "Is that why I turned blue when I got Drakken's evil?" He demanded.

Sensei looked thoughtfully at Drakken. "Unless Lipsky-san remembers the laboratory accident that dyed his skin?"

Drakken shook his head.

"It would also explain why Shego switched her allegiance so quickly," Sensei said. "You were not only a more effective villain, but the taint of the Unshaper was transferred from Lipsky-san to you."

Ron shuddered. "Suddenly so much grosser than it once was."

Sensei smiled at him sympathetically, then pushed on. "The Unshaper had been focusing its attention on Sheila-san, the member of Team Go who was the most isolated and vulnerable – and apparently the most angry and bitter – trying to corrupt her. Then she met another wounded soul, one who could provide her with an army and an armory, and it lost patience and brought its will down upon them. But even then, the resistance continued: Shego, who should have been the Unshaper's general, its…Witch-King, yes?…became lazy and subservient, while Drakken – who can build the Fountain of Youth in a handheld form or put a miracle in a syringe – became inept. The more dangerous the scheme, the more it sabotaged itself. For example, imagine the result if the mind-control formula from his shampoo had been used to taint existing cosmetic products."

Almost everyone at the table looked horrified and amazed, as if they had never realized before just how bad the situation could have been. Which was probably the case. Only Dr. Director greeted the thought with a simple, grim nod.

It was no surprise that Kim, Sheila, and Yori seemed particularly squicked by the idea. It probably shouldn't have been that Mego and Hego were as well, but what can you do?

"Thus the psychological weakness I spoke of, Stoppable-san, Possible-san…they did not truly desire to win. Until – "

"Until this spring," Kim said, making the connection. "When Drakken suddenly became a lot more competent, and Shego became a _lot_ more aggressive."

Sensei nodded. "And yet they still left you alone and armed in a simple warehouse at the moment of their greatest victory. As the situation grows more dangerous, it grows more unstable as well."

Everyone at the table pondered that for a moment. Then Kim spoke again.

"The sitch _does _look pretty dire," she said. "And that's usually what people call us for…"

Sensei nodded – partly in agreement, and partly in approval of her choice of words. Once she would have said "me" instead of "us".

"But this looks like an entirely new _level_ of dire. It's always been gods who beat this thing before, so that makes _us_ look pretty third-string."

"Total benchwarmer," Ron agreed.

"Wasn't calling us pretty pointless?"

"On the contrary, Possible-san," Sensei said. "If your parents agree, we can gather information about the coming threat, which is far from pointless."

"Don't be ridiculous," James Possible said. "Of course we agree."

"You do?" Kim said, surprised.

"Of course we do, honey," Her mother said. "We've seen some pretty strange things in our time – remember the toxic snowmen?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well then. It's clear that _something_ bad is happening, and if there's even a _chance _that Master Sensei is right, then we can't stand idly by."

Sensei smiled. "I expected no less from the parents of such a hero." Then he turned his attention back to Kim. "Second, one of the pieces of information that we have gathered over the ages at Yamanouchi is a prophecy. One that says we may find our hope in the Scarred Warrior and the Laughing Magician."

Kim – and most of the other people at the table, really – winced. "Well, _that's_ blunt enough," She said.

"Prophets are seldom sensitive about such matters," Sensei apologized.

"But – it can't be talking about us," Ron protested. "I'm not a magician!"

Sensei quirked an eyebrow at him. "No?"

"No! All I've got are some Fu skillz, and – "

"Which, in my tradition at least, are one path to such power."

"But – "

Sensei held up a hand. "If you are not a magician, Stoppable-san, please explain the following two impossibilities to me:"

Ron fell silent, waiting for Sensei's "impossibilities".

"First, Rufus-san's intelligence."

Ron looked down at Rufus, who looked back up at him and shrugged. Then he looked back at Sensei, completely perplexed. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"Surely you do not believe that all naked mole rats are like Rufus-san?" Sensei asked. "He is an animal, Stoppable-san, and he often behaves like one. His tendency to swallow food he enjoys whole, rather than savoring it, for example. And yet his intelligence – and wisdom – is greater than that of many humans. His 'Fu skillz' exceed yours, as do his technical abilities, and I suspect that the only reason he cannot speak in full conversational English is because his speaking apparatus does not allow it."

Ron looked back down at Rufus, who nodded, said "Uh-huh," and patted his throat with a paw.

Ron looked back up at Sensei, a little stunned. "So how does that make me a magician?" He asked.

"Rufus-san is what the western tradition would call your familiar, Stoppable-san," Sensei said. "You went to Smarty Mart for a pet, and you reshaped that pet into the friend you imagined in your childhood loneliness." He smiled slightly. "It may please you to know that your bond ensures that Rufus will live as long as you do."

"Well, that _is_ pretty – hey, wait!" Ron said. "What's the _second_ 'impossibility'?"

"Possible-san's survival," Sensei answered.

Silence.

"Oh, hey," Ron said, showing a strained grin. "That's not impossible. She can do anything!" He looked desperately at Mr. Dr. P. "Anything's possible for a Possible, right?"

After a moment of staring at the table, James Possible shook his head. "No," He whispered.

"_What?_"

Both teen heroes stared at him in horror.

"No," He said more strongly. "No, she can't, and no, it's not." He raised his head and looked at Ron. "I'm a rocket scientist, Ronald. Explosions are part of my _job_. And it is impossible that anything human standing in front of the blast that leveled that wall could have survived it. She should have been vaporized."

"I knew it!" Drakken crowed. Ron, the Possibles, and Rufus all snapped evil glares at him, and he cringed into his chair. "I'll just shut up now…"

"Thank you," Kim said coldly.

Sheila just bowed her head in shame.

"You could not defend yourself from such force," Sensei said to Ron. "Not then, and probably not even now. To confront the power of the Unshaper head-on is to Sumo wrestle with a freight train. But once Possible-san had rescued you, your need was able to rewrite the laws of chance and probability so that she survived as well. It was the effort to do so, not the blow to your head, that sent you unconscious. Did you never wonder why you suffered no concussion, nor even a split scalp?"

Ron didn't ask how Sensei knew his specific injuries. Instead, he just wheezed: "Let me guess, you felt a disturbance in the Force."

"Even as you say."

Ron felt Kim squeeze his hand fiercely, and he turned to face her. Her eyes were shining with triumph. _Do you see?_ Those eyes were saying. _I told you! It was never your fault – you saved me just like I saved you!_ Maybe the scales still weren't quite balanced, but –

Beyond Kim, James and Colleen Possible's eyes were shining with even deeper gratitude than they'd felt before. Ron had the feeling that he was seconds away from the mother of all Group Hugs.

"Is that…" Colleen Possible swallowed hard. "Is that why Kimmie recovered so quickly?" She asked. "Because Ron was there to help her? Even with Drakken's invention it always seemed – well, miraculous."

"It certainly caused no harm," Sensei said. "But your daughter has power of her own. She is the Scarred Warrior, after all. Stoppable-san could not have survived what she did, even with her modified luck, for he is – "

"Okay!" Ron said, throwing up his hands. "I'm the Laughing Magician. Great. Ha Ha and Hocus Pocus. Now what?"

"Now I would very much like to take you to Yamanouchi, to spend what time we have in preparation and training. Dr. Possible – sir, madam – if I have your permission? I assure you that your daughter's education will not suffer."

They made affirmative noises (though it was clear that they would have more questions), and then Sensei turned his attention to Dr. Director. "Would it be possible to create another fictitious exchange program, perhaps?"

The question came as a relief. Apparently, Sensei didn't know _everything_.

"It won't be necessary," Dr. Director said. "Team Possible was expelled from their High School this afternoon."

Sensei's only sign of surprise was a raised eyebrow.

"Apparently," Dr. Director continued, "The powers-that-be decided that they were too dangerous to be allowed into the presence of regular students."

"Those powers should be ashamed of themselves," Sensei said. "Still…" He turned to James Possible. "What is your belief in regards to fate?"


	5. Interlude: Falling Barometer

_Erin sat on the ground, leaned her back up against the wall of somebody's house, and watched the temple across the street burn._

_She wondered what her parents were doing right now. Were they worried about her? Did they miss her? They might even be ashamed of her, if they'd made the wrong guess about where she'd gotten to. Or they might have forgotten about her entirely in their struggle to keep their other children alive._

_That was why she'd run away, after all. Run away and joined the Crusade when word of it came to her village. A pike in the belly had to be better than starvation, and even if it wasn't, her family was surely better off with one less mouth to feed, especially if that mouth belonged to their hunting, tree-climbing, boy-fighting, unmarriageable daughter._

_It hadn't been hard to disguise herself and fit in. The last thing any of the men expected was that a girl could be hiding among them, and so nothing put their wind up: if her cheeks were smooth, well, there were _many_ recruits and conscripts who didn't have their beards yet, and some of their voices were even higher than hers. If she went a little further into the woods than most when it came time to visit the privy, all they did was tease her a bit for her shyness (the funny thing about that was that it was probably _true_ that she didn't have anything that they hadn't seen before…just not quite as often as they thought). They all saw what they expected to see, not what they really saw. _

_Still, she'd taken a few extra steps just to be _certain _that no one questioned her disguise. The whores didn't seem to mind that she just wanted to sit with them for a few minutes – her pennies were as good as any man's. Maybe some of them actually realized the truth. More likely, they were just used to dealing with shy, nervous boys. Either way, they didn't mind lying for her afterward, either. _

_How long had it been since she'd left home? She didn't know, exactly. A whole season, at least, and if they were any closer to the Holy Land, she'd just have to take the sergeant's word for it. She'd had no idea that the world was so big. Not that she'd minded the learning; it was worth the blisters on her feet to see all the things she'd seen._

_Not that everything she'd seen was wonderful. She'd seen the sea, yes; and an actual city with a great stone cathedral. She had even caught a glimpse of the king. But she'd also seen what an army did to the towns it passed, even ones that weren't enemies. Even if no harm was meant, things got trampled by the passage of so very many men. What was worse, many of those men were the bullies and bravos of their towns, come on the Crusade to loot and killing time along the way by taking whatever they felt like taking from whoever couldn't stop them. _

_Such men weren't put off by anything as meaningless as being in the same army, so small, weak-looking boys – like Erin – were in just as much danger as any of the townsfolk. _

_She'd been caught by a gang of such men on the edge of camp – had it really just been a fortnight ago? – just as she was coming out of the woods. If she'd been the boy they thought she was, they would have beaten her, stolen what little she had, and then taken her clothes just to add to the humiliation. She'd seen it before. But she _wasn't_ a boy, and she was pretty sure that they would have _other_ ways to add to the humiliation once her clothes were off. _

_She was a good fighter, and she'd fought like a cat about to be dunked in the millpond, but she'd lost. There had been near onto a dozen of them. But they'd just started beating her in earnest – payment for how much trouble she'd given them – when help had arrived. He hadn't been a good fighter, but he'd been a good distraction, and that had allowed them to escape._

_As soon as they'd gotten loose, they'd run for town. All the way to his home…in the Ghetto._

_A Jew. Her rescuer had been a Jew._

_How was she to know? He didn't look anything like she'd been told Jews looked like. No horns. No tail. His feet didn't even leave hoof-shaped burn marks on the ground. _

_She'd have turned around and run right back to camp (a different part, of course), but that was when her injuries had finally caught up to her, and she had passed out. _

_She'd awakened some hours later in his bed. And although it was clear that he already knew what she'd wanted to hide from the camp-bullies (it would have been hard for him to bind up her ribs without noticing, after all), he seemed to have left her honor intact. Strangely enough, despite the fact that meant that she was still a Christian virgin, he showed no particular interest in her blood, still less in her soul. He just offered her some soup. She'd been so hungry for so long – small, weak-looking boys didn't get to stand at the front of the chow line – that she'd fallen on it like a rabid wolf. Then she'd spent the next half-hour or so after eating it waiting for the poison to kick in. _

_Erin wasn't stupid. When she realized that an hour had gone by since the best supper she'd had in years and she was still alive, that was enough to convince her that this Jew really was nothing more than what he seemed: a kind man who was trying to help her out and cheer her up. _

_His name was Aaron. That was a little funny. He started calling her "Rin" just to avoid confusion. And he was a baker. A _baker_, of all things. That was why he'd been out by the camp: he'd been hoping to sell some fresh bread to soldiers who'd been living on hardtack and jerky for weeks. _

_She'd thought all Jews were moneylenders. _

_But then, it took her about half a day to learn that everything she'd ever been told about Jews was wrong. The people of Aaron's ghetto dressed differently, and their language was some kind of guttural gabble (Aaron, who had gone out to offer his wares to passing travelers before, had at least a smattering of a proper tongue or two), but otherwise, they were remarkably like the people back home. Which was to say, they made her about as welcome as her home-village would have made some pretty girl who appeared out of nowhere and moved in with a local bachelor without so much as a word of wedding vows spoken. She didn't know exactly what the word _shiksa_ meant, but she could make a few good guesses by the way it was spat at her. _

_Aaron didn't care what any of them thought, though. It wasn't like they had anywhere else to take their business, and he had no living family to please. And somehow, he found ways to make her not care, too – usually reducing her to helpless tears of laughter in the process. _

_He was a good man, Aaron was. He reminded Erin a little of her father, who was considered a weakling in their village because he'd never once shown his wife the back of his hand. He'd only ever shown it to Erin herself when her romping had put herself or her playmates in danger. His softness had been widely blamed for how unnaturally Erin had turned out. Still, weakling or not, her father had worked as hard as any man in the village – harder – to keep his family fed. _

_Perhaps it was that resemblance, as much as anything else, that had made up her mind._

_Rin had been with Aaron for a fortnight, and her injuries had long since healed. She could have gone back to the camp at any time, but she found that she didn't _want_ to. What had the Saracens ever done to her, that she should want to go kill them? What did she want with the Holy Land, either? When Christ came back, He'd take it as His own no matter _what_ heathen were living there, and He wouldn't need mortal hands to help. _

_What she wanted was to stay with Aaron. They'd only been together a fortnight, but it seemed like they'd known each other forever. Her heart came near to breaking when she thought about leaving. And maybe she was flattering herself, but the one time she'd spoken of it, Aaron had seemed none too happy either, and had changed the subject very quickly._

_So. She had decided: that very night, she would come right out and ask Aaron if she could stay. And whether he said yea or nay, she would ask him another question – make him another offer – as well. Proper girls didn't make such asks nor offers – at the very least, they waited for their sweetheart to make them – but then, proper girls didn't dress as boys nor learn how to use pikes, neither. _

_She wanted to stay with Aaron. If that meant that he could make her his proper wife in the Jewish way (whatever that was), that would make her happier than she could ever remember being. If it meant that she actually became what all of those angry-eyed, sour-faced old women thought she was and started squeezing out blond, freckled bastards, she could do that, too. She didn't care, as long as they were together. _

_Unfortunately, she never got the chance to make the ask, nor the offer. In the fortnight she'd been gone, Plague had broke out in the camp. And of course, everyone knew what caused Plague:_

_Jews poisoning the water supply._

_The people of the ghetto didn't put up much of a fight. Rin supposed that peasants were peasants, whether they lived in town or village: a life lived under their lord's heel, taking the beating with a bowed head when it came, for fear of getting worse, didn't make for fighters. Besides, what could you do when a dozen men with spears and clubs came crashing through your door as you sat at your supper table?_

_Rin had fought. She'd fought like she was all the devils of Hell plus a few angels come by to help for old time's sake. She took some satisfaction that, of the seven men she'd left in no condition for soldiering – ever – five of them had been in the gang that had attacked her. In the end, though, it did no good. _

_In the end, she found out that she'd been right: a pike in the belly _was _better than starvation. No way that this was going to take more than a few more minutes to kill her. _

_There'd been no doubt she was a girl when the soldiers came in – she'd been dressed up as pretty as she knew how for Aaron – but they didn't even take the time to ravish her before they dragged him away. They were too sick, too scared of the Plague, too rushed to cure it. _

_She'd crawled after them, holding her guts in with her hand, but she'd gotten as far as she could get. She could get no further. _

_It was far enough. _

_The soldiers had herded the people of Aaron's ghetto into their own temple, boarded it up, and set it ablaze. _

_The screams were drowned out by the ringing in her own ears, but she knew they were there. She gave up on praying that God would stop the fire, or send angels to rescue the people, or even give _her _the strength to do the rescuing herself. None of it was happening, nor going to. Maybe her faith was too weak, or maybe God didn't answer prayers from the likes of her, nor them. Whatever the which way. _

_Now she just made wishes. Crazy, dying wishes. She wished she was in the temple, so she could at least die with Aaron since it seemed she had to die. She wished that he had a pike-hole in his gut, too, so he'd have a quicker death than the one he was getting. She wished – _

_Then a window broke out between two boards, and a hand reached out. _

_To her. It wasn't just waving about aimless, it was reaching out to _her

_Aaron. It was Aaron. She could see him now. His shirt was on fire, and his hair, but he didn't seem to notice. He'd seen her lying across the street, dying in the mud, and he was reaching out to her, calling her name – his name for her, Rin, Rin – as the flames blazed higher with the new draft of air._

_Rin rolled over and started to crawl. If she could only reach him, if she could lean up against the wall of the temple as she had against that house, and reach up and take his hand, that would be enough. If she could only do that, they would be dying their bad deaths together, and that would be enough. _

_If only she could make it…if only…_

_But she'd only made it about halfway when the temple fell in, and the window disappeared. That was when she stopped crawling, and let the darkness that had been hovering on the edges of her vision close in._

----

Kim woke up with a scream choked in her throat and tears streaming down her face. She whipped her head around to the seat beside her, and saw Ron staring back at her. Tears were streaming from his eyes, too.

"Rin?" He asked desperately.

She nodded.

Sensei and Yori hurried back from their own seats further forward in the plane – Ron's scream hadn't stayed stuck in his throat.

Ron and Kim didn't even notice they were there. They were too busy unbuckling themselves. Let the plane fall from the sky – not that they thought for a second that a Yamanouchi hoverjet would do so – they didn't care. They needed to grab, hold – make sure that the other was there, was real. They were suffocating, dying without each other. They couldn't breathe until they touched.

"Stoppable-san?" Sensei asked, concerned. "Possible-san? What is wrong? What has happened?"

"Just a dream," Ron said, not really speaking to Sensei or even to Kim. "Just a dream, just a dream."

"That…must have been a terrible dream," Yori said, unsure what else to do.

"Only the worst ever of my life!" Ron choked.

"But that's all it was," Kim soothed, as much for herself as for him. "That's all it was. I'm here, you're here – it was just a dream. Just a dream."

Sensei motioned for Yori to return to her seat. Hesitantly, with numerous glances over her shoulder, she did. He followed shortly thereafter, allowing the two heroes time to regain their composure. He doubted that they even noticed.

He'd seen people in such states of terror and shock before, but never over a dream. And Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable were two of the bravest people he'd known.

He would speak to them later, when they were less upset. In particular, he would ask them to give him an account of the dream, and any others that they'd had that were like it. He would also ask them to make notes of any other such dreams that came to them in the future.

They were missing something important, but it wasn't really their fault. It was for training in just this sort of thing that they were coming to Yamanouchi. Neither of them were accustomed to their new status, nor had they thought out all of the implications.

For a magician or for a Destined Champion, dreams were not always "just dreams".


	6. Squalls: Day One

**Day One: Yamanouchi**

By the time the hoverjet landed at Yamanouchi, Kim and Ron had largely managed to calm down. Largely. They'd returned to their seats, but their hands were still gripped tightly between them. Ron, whose dream-death had been the more horrible of the two, was still a bit twitchy. In addition to holding Kim's hand, he clutched Rufus tight to his chest. Sensing his human's distress, Rufus didn't protest. He just nuzzled and made soothing cooing noises.

They saw mountain peaks, then mountain pines rising past their windows as the hoverjet descended on a straight vertical, then felt a thump, and the engines – already much quieter than standard jets – fell silent. Then Yori appeared beside them, suddenly and quietly enough to surprise even Kim. "We have arrived," she announced, and would have said more, but she noticed Ron's agitation. "Stoppable-san, are you all right?" She asked.

"I will be," he answered. "Maybe. In a few days."

"Was your dream truly that distressing?"

Ron opened his mouth, ready to make a wisecrack, brush it off as he always did. But the words wouldn't come out. He'd just burned to death while watching Kim bleed out in the middle of a muddy street.

"Yes," He answered.

Her face turned sympathetic, and she leaned in to pat him on the shoulder. "Have no fear, Stoppable-san," she said. "You are far too brave for a dream to defeat."

He smiled back at her. Weakly.

Kim smiled, too, and squeezed his hand. "He'll be okay," she said. "I'll take care of him."

Yori straightened, her own smile becoming polite instead of warm. "It is good that you will," she said. "Now please; follow me. Master Sensei is waiting for us."

Ron was still too worked-up to notice the exchange, but Rufus looked at Kim quizzically as Ron got up to follow.

_Why did I do that?_ Kim asked herself. _I just…_laid claim_…to Ron! I think – I _hope _– I managed to keep the edge out of my voice, avoid being _too _openly rude, but I'm still acting as territorial as a cat!_

Perhaps it was because she was really noticing Yori for the first time since she and Sensei had appeared in the meeting room beneath Global Justice. Always before, there had been more important things to pay attention to: the meeting itself, packing, getting to the plane, saying goodbyes, collapsing in exhaustion once the trip began. Only now was Kim able to notice that the Japanese girl was just a little bit curvier than she was, a bit more filled-out – not just-got-over-the-flu thin. And of course, much more importantly, her face -

_No. I will not jeal. I _will not_ jeal. Jealing means that I'm afraid that Yori can take Ron away from me – that I don't trust him. So I won't do it. I won't. _

With that firmly decided, she got up and followed the others.

----

Ron was looking around in wonder as Kim descended the boarding stairs. She was right there with him on that – the mountain vista and the school itself were beautiful. But hadn't he been here before? Surely it couldn't have changed that much – every building that she could see looked ancient.

"A landing pad?" He was saying. "There's a _landing_ _pad_ up here? Why didn't I notice a landing pad last time? Did you just build this landing pad?"

"No, Stoppable-san," Yori answered. "This landing pad was built in 1976. It was just well-concealed the last time you were here."

"It won't be our honor to walk?" Ron asked, in a voice that was a curious combination of hope and exasperation.

From where she was standing, Kim could see what looked like a large gate on the opposite side of the Yamanouchi compound, and a trail leading down the mountain. Suddenly, something she'd been wondering about became clear: "No wonder you actually packed light," she said.

"Aw, man," Ron whined. "I could've – "

Yori put a finger to his lips.

_I will not jeal. I will not jeal. I will not jeal._

"Sensei's stamina is not what it once was, Stoppable-san." Yori whispered. "He can no longer make the climb."

Rufus whimpered sympathetically from Ron's pocket. Kim, thinking of how her father would feel if – when – he could no longer go skiing with her, agreed with the naked mole rat's sentiments.

"He feels the decline of his physical abilities very keenly," Yori continued. "Though he would never say so to us. So please say no more."

She took her finger away, but as he started to say "Oh. I'm – ", she put it right back. "Do not apologize," she said. "Just say no more." Ron nodded, and she took her hand away. Then a bright smile blossomed on her face, one that almost reached her eyes. "Stoppable-san, you make another of your American-style jokes," She said too loudly and too cheerfully. "How could our landing pad be new? Where could our airplanes have landed without one?"

For once, Ron caught the drift when it could still do some good. "I didn't _know_ that you had ninja-jets – ninjets? Were they hidden, too?"

----

Across the landing pad, at the rear gate of Yamanouchi, Sensei – whose stamina was indeed less than it had once been, but whose hearing was better than the children of this noisy modern age would suspect – smiled to himself and forgave his students their good intentions.

----

As they started to walk, Kim took Ron's hand…

_Don't do it don't do it don't do it_

And wrapped his arm around her, inserting his hand into the back pocket of her jeans.

A little surprised but most def not complaining, Ron gave a grin and a squeeze, then slid his hand up to her waist. Easier to walk that way.

Usually, it would have felt good. Pretty much any touch from Ron was a Good Thing, and being touched like _that_ was…mmm. Frustrating as all hell, but delicious anyway.

This time, it just felt cheap. Petty. Spiteful.

_Somebody please stop me before I jeal again_

----

All eyes were on them as they entered the grounds of Yamanouchi.

Kim didn't know – because none of her companions had thought to mention it to her (hey, she wasn't the only one with a lot on her mind) – that the students of Yamanouchi would be eager to see the famous outsider who had saved the honor of the school and become the bearer of the Lotus Blade. Only the youngest openly flocked around them, but a truly astounding number of older students "just happened" to be passing along their way as they followed Sensei into the school.

But although they had come to see Ron, most of the stares were – for the second time in as many days – for Kim. Part of it was the sheer _difference_ of her appearance: Ron, with his blond hair and freckles, was visibly an outsider, but Kim – with her red hair and green eyes – might as well have been from Mars.

But there was more to it than that, of course.

There were her scars.

For the second time in as many days, Kim could feel the weight of the eyes on her. The stares were sideways, hidden – more "polite" than those of her classmates in Middleton – but she still felt naked. Worse than naked: at least her nakedness would have been beautiful once.

She resisted the urge to shrink into herself. She couldn't hide from a school full of ninjas. Well, she could do anything, but…she was Kim Possible. There were things that she _wouldn't_ do even if she could.

"You know, Possible-san," Sensei said, suddenly and a bit louder than if he was just speaking to her, "It is appropriate that you have finally come here to us. Yamanouchi owes your family a great debt."

"My family?" Kim said, caught off guard. Most of the rest of the audience was similarly surprised. This was an aspect of their school's history that they had never heard of.

"Yes," He smiled back over his shoulder at her, acting as if he had no other audience. "Your grandmother once taught a young fool an important lesson, and so prevented him from becoming an old fool."

"Really? Who?" Ron asked.

Sensei just shook his head, still smiling, and Ron caught the hint on the rebound. "You knew Nana Possible?" He asked, amazed.

"I did."

"Hey, KP, Sensei could've been your grandfather! Isn't that cool?"

It was, kind of, but before Kim could say so, Sensei spoke again.

"Alas, I could not, Stoppable-san. Although such a thing would be extremely 'cool', just as you say."

Some of the eavesdroppers barely managed to stifle gasps at this shocking admission. Some _gaijin_ women were pretty enough in their way – Kim Possible herself before she had been disfigured, for example – but to speak with regret of missing the chance to sire half-breeds? Sensei had just casually thrown away some of the honor that it had taken him a lifetime to earn.

Either ignorant or (more likely) uncaring about their reaction, Sensei continued: "Possible-san's grandmother and I met as enemies, on opposite sides of the same great war. If I had sired any children upon her, it would have been by force. And I would never do such a thing. If I had ever defeated her, I would have killed her quickly and efficiently – as she would have done to me."

Ron and Kim stopped in place for a moment, stunned by the casual brutality of Sensei's statement. For the first time in their lives, they really understood, really _believed_ that the tiny, elderly people they knew _really had been_ warriors in a war that they had only ever read about in history books.

"But I never _did_ defeat her," Sensei continued, bringing the two teenagers out of their shock and sending them hurrying to catch up. "And that is the lesson she taught me. She cured me of the misconceptions of a man of my place and time. _She_ is the reason that female students have had a place at Yamanouchi since such decisions became mine to make." He paused, smiling again. "I was pleased when we met again, some years later, under better circumstances. We had never been enemies for personal reasons."

They entered what seemed to be the center of the school: a broad practice ground with grand-looking buildings whose purpose Kim couldn't identify on all four sides.

"Over there is the dormitory," Sensei said, waving at one of them. "Yori will show you to your rooms, where you will find several school _gis_. Please change your clothes, leave your belongings, and return here as quickly as you can. You shall have time to move in later, but for now there are things we must do that can wait no longer."

----

They did as they were bid, and returned within minutes. Some of the crowd that had followed them in had dispersed – gone to class, perhaps – but a new one quickly gathered. It was a high-traffic area, after all.

"So what can we do you for, Master Sensei?" Ron asked with his usual boisterous cheer. Students giggled. Instructors frowned. Kim blushed. Rufus smacked a paw to his forehead and groaned. Sensei remained impassive.

"Now is when we must assess where we are, so we can learn where we must go, Stoppable-san," Sensei answered. He clapped his hands, and a path immediately opened to one of several circles set into the practice ground.

Understanding immediately, Kim started for the circle and Rufus hopped out of Ron's pocket, but Ron just stood, staring quizzically at Sensei. "You're giving us a test?" He asked.

"Exactly," Sensei answered.

Ron was still confused, but Kim caught him by the arm and pulled him after her. "Ron, this is a ninja school," she said. "He wants us to spar."

"What?" He squawked.

"If he's going to teach us how to fight, he needs to know how well we can fight _now_," she said, pulling him into the circle, letting him go, and turning to face him.

"Can't he just watch the tapes?" Ron whined. "Wade has the world wired, there have to be tapes!"

Kim took up a defensive stance. "You spent all summer fighting supervillains and you beat the crap out of Shego," she said. "You can do this."

"It's not just that, KP," he whispered, his face desperately unhappy. "You know it's not."

She paused and started to straighten. Her instinct was to hug Ron until he could smile again. But then she settled back into her fighting stance. "We've talked about this, Ron," She said quietly. "We _need_ to be able to train together."

Taking a deep breath, he nodded, and – his face still terribly unhappy – he took one of the defensive positions of Monkey Kung Fu. Kim wondered if she would ever stop being surprised at how competent and dangerous – if ridiculous – he looked when he did that.

Sensei – with Rufus now sitting on his shoulder – clapped his hands again, and the match began.

Kim realized what was happening almost immediately. She didn't expect their "test" to be at full speed – not in an open field with no protective equipment – but they'd both done much more dangerous things in much more dangerous places, and they'd sparred all summer. She expected a workout.

Ron wasn't giving her one. Whether it was because he was still hung up on what had happened in Drakken's lair, or he still thought of her as the invalid that he'd trained in the summer, he was holding back. A lot. And it was making _her_ hold back, just to keep from hurting him. A half-hearted kick was easily ducked and countered with a half-speed leg sweep that was hopped over and answered with a timid –

They had to look like idiots.

"Come on Ron," she said. "This is no time to choke. You can do this."

"I _am_," he insisted, throwing a punch that missed her by miles and might have gone unnoticed if it had connected.

_That_ did it.

They were standing in front of a school full of people (including…_her_) who were probably starting to think that either she was weakling, Ron was a fake, or both.

Fine. If he needed a boot to the britches to get him going, it was hardly the first time.

Suddenly, she was a blur of motion, and the next thing Ron knew, the heel of Kim's hand was pressed against the underside of his nose, and he was a few pounds of pressure away from bone shards in his brain. He froze, not quite daring to breathe.

"I'm not a cripple anymore, Ron Stoppable," she growled, too quietly for anyone else to hear. "Make it good."

The moment broke when Sensei spoke again: "It appears that Possible-san is done warming up, Stoppable-san," he said mildly.

"That's right," Kim said quickly, stepping back into a guard position. If Sensei was going to help them save some face, she was glad to play along. "I am."

"Very good. Now please begin."

----

_That's better_, Sensei thought as he watched the match begin in earnest. He – and, he suspected, Possible-san – understood the reasons for Stoppable-san's reticence. But understanding the reasons for something did not mean that it could be allowed; the timid mock-bout that Stoppable-san had attempted did Possible-san no honor, and helped not at all with the assessment he needed to make.

The bout, as it was now, taught him a great deal.

As he had known would be the case, Possible-san was the better fighter of the two. Instinct can only carry one so far against instinct _and _experience. The unpredictability of _Tai Xing Pek War _gave her a moment's difficulty, but she had dealt with it before – she had fought Monkey Fist, after all. It took her but little time to adjust to Stoppable-san's fighting style. After that she was able to "cage the monkey" – limit Stoppable-san's options and force the randomness of Monkey Kung Fu into a pattern of her choosing.

Sensei had expected that. But as he watched, he learned something far more interesting: Kim Possible did not know Monkey Kung Fu herself. How could that be, when her closest friend had been a master of the style for over a year? It was unlikely that she was uninterested in learning a new fighting style – she seemed to collect them like other girls her age collected shoes (although he suspected that she did that as well). No, either she had dismissed Stoppable-san as unqualified to teach her, or he had dismissed _himself_. In fact, it seemed unlikely that he had even bothered to use his skills around her very much, or else she – natural that she was – would have picked up at least a few moves by osmosis. Was he that dependent on her? That set in his role as the sidekick?

The matter was starting to concern him deeply when something happened that brightened his mood considerably. Something that he had not dared to expect, but had devoutly hoped for.

Possible-san was pressing Stoppable-san hard, forcing him to keep ducking and dodging so he could launch no counterattacks, backing him toward the edge of the ring. Soon he would have the choice between losing by going out of bounds, or being taken to the ground by his girlfriend. Then, suddenly, just as she was about to finish the match (the culmination of a strategy she had formed ten moves back), Stoppable-san escaped.

By leaping fifty feet back and twenty feet up, trailing streamers of golden light all the way, onto the roof of the Lotus Blade's shrine.

Most of the school – including Rufus – gasped and stared in awe, but Sensei barely managed to restrain himself from cheering aloud. Stoppable-san had used the Mystic Monkey Power in a situation that involved neither furious rage nor mortal danger. Perhaps it hadn't been _entirely_ voluntary, but it still demonstrated that the young American's connection with the Power had truly deepened.

At least some good had come of that summer, though the price had been too high, and the risk too great to say it had been worth it.

Quickly, as Stoppable-san dropped to the shrine's roof and clung to it for dear life, Sensei turned his attention to Possible-san. Her response to her lover's magical escape would tell him much. Would there be anger? Jealousy?

He looked at her just in time to see her put her hands on her hips and grin in fond exasperation. "I should leave you up there, you cheater!" She called, breaking the silence.

"Oh, like playing against the kiddie league is fair when you're the varsity?" Ron called back, still hugging the roof. "Ladder please!"

Sensei wasn't pleased that Stoppable-san considered himself the "kiddie league", but he was warmed by their connection. It was like no one else was on the field with them.

The next thing that happened, however, chilled him to the bone.

"There's one," Possible-san said, pointing into the Lotus Blade's shrine. "I'll just – "

The entire student body and faculty of Yamanouchi moved, almost as a single entity, to stop her, but the very first to react was Hirotaka.

"No!" The handsome student shouted. Kim stopped short and turned to him, staring in confusion. "That one is…in poor condition," He said. "It is unsafe. I shall fetch another."

"Oookay," she said, watching him quizzically as he hurried away.

Sensei silently applauded Hirotaka's quick thinking, and made a mental note to congratulate him for it later. Everyone else had been too stunned by the fact that Stoppable-san had managed to change the Lotus Blade into the ladder he desired without even touching it or meaning to do so to come up with a plausible story.

----

As it usually did, the match had cleared Kim's head. Almost as soon as Ron got down from the roof of that little building (it looked too nice to be a shed, but if it wasn't, why were they keeping a ladder in there?), she knew what she had to do.

Telling herself not to jeal was working about as well as telling herself not to be hungry or tired: the more she focused on it, the more she felt it.

Part of her – the jealing part – wanted to just throw Yori off the mountain, or at least "convince" her to be far away when Ron was around. Leaving out the question of whether she could actually do it (still not quite 100), she knew it wouldn't help. Not really.

You didn't stop being hungry by telling yourself not to be, or beating up on someone who might want your food. You stopped being hungry by eating. You stopped being tired by sleeping.

With that in mind, she knew what she needed to stop jealing.

----

After dinner, Ron was eager to get to bed – jet lag just made that four AM wake-up call loom all the more – but Kim insisted that he show her around the school a bit. They had to leave Rufus behind – the poor little guy had fallen asleep in his rice bowl at supper – but that suited Kim's plans just fine.

She actually _was_ interested in exploring the school. It was gorgeous, after all, and she had no doubt that every stone and tree was just engraved with history. What was more, she had the warrior's instinct to know all she could about the ground she stood on.

All of that could have waited for tomorrow, however. They _were_ pretty tired, and nightfall was hardly the best possible time for a tour.

All moot points. They'd only gotten as far as the first secluded grove before Kim grabbed Ron, shoved him up against a tree, took his head in her hands, and put him in a lip-lock that threatened to suffocate him.

"Gasp - Kim, what - ?"

"Make out now explain later."

She grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him back in.

Not that Ron _wanted _to resist, but even if he _had_, the thought would have dissolved (along with the ability to think at all) with the realization that there was an athletic redhead with her tongue in his mouth, her breasts pressing against his chest, her free hand on his ass (and was that a tight, muscular ass under his own hands? Sure felt like it!), and she was rubbing up against him in the most _badical _ways.

Make out now ask questions later.

Later came when Kim broke off with a gasp of her own and leaned back (_not_ breaking contact), still breathing hard. "Thanks, Ron," she panted. "I needed that."

She had. It wasn't _all_ she needed, but she could feel the…enthusiasm…of Ron's reaction, and she already felt much better.

"Where did _that_ come from?" Ron asked, dazed. "Not that I _mind _that you wanted a little extra helping of the Rondo," he hastened to assure her, seeing her raised eyebrow, "But I spent all evening thinking I was in some kind of trouble."

"Trouble?" She asked. "Why would you be in trouble?"

"Well, you've been pretty quiet," he said. "Ever since the match this afternoon, you've answered questions, and that's about it. I thought you were mad at me for holding out on you."

"Oh, that." She waved it away. "That's so over, Ron. In fact, I'm sorry I was so snappish about that."

"Oh, pshaw, KP," He said, now taking his turn to wave her concern away (but keeping the other hand planted _firmly_ in place). "No big. Even if it was, right now I'd forgive you for killing one of my 'rents. Maybe even both." He pretended to think about it. "Nah, probably not both…"

She ground her hips against him again.

"Okay, both. But Rufus is off-limits, y'hear?" He said sternly.

She grinned at him, but then her face turned serious again. "Actually, the reason I've been so quiet is because…" She paused and took another deep breath, this one having nothing to do with passion. This was the deep breath that one takes just before jumping into cold water, or tearing off the band-aid. "Because I was being stupid. And I didn't want to be stupid out loud."

"Stupid?" Ron said, by now completely foozled (and it didn't help matters that very little blood was reaching his brain at the moment). "How are you being stupid?"

"I'm…" She hesitated again. This admitting-her-faults thing never did get easy. Best to just tear off the band-aid. "I'm jealing on Yori," she said quickly, before she could chicken out.

"Yori?" He asked, still confused.

"I know it's silly," she said, not quite able to meet his eyes anymore. "And I know it's even a little hurtful. I mean, I trust you, I really do – with my life and my…my _everything_. But…" She bit her lip, looking in the general direction of their shoes. "But I know you like her – and why shouldn't you? She's very likeable – and she _likes you-_likes you, and she's…" Another deep breath, but even so, she couldn't force her next words out as anything more than a whisper. "she's _beautiful_, and – "

"Pretty," Ron interrupted.

"What?" Kim's head snapped up, startled out of her speech.

"Pretty," He repeated. "She's very, very pretty. _You're_ beautiful."

She smiled up at him, a crooked smile through her scarred lips. "You know, I should know by now how wonderful you are," she said. "How is it that you keep surprising me?"

She expected a broad grin and maybe something braggy about unseen depths – and why not? It was true – but instead, Ron started to look uncomfortable. He tilted his head to the side and let go of her with one hand so he could rub the back of his neck.

"Maybe not _so _wonderful, KP," he said. "I have a little confession to make, too."

Her smile turned fond and she shook her head, but she reached up and ruffled his hair nonetheless. "Well, go ahead," she said. "If I can do it, you can. I'm not sure I'll forgive you for killing my parents…unless you killed the tweebs, too."

He grinned. "Actually, my confession is just like yours. I saw that guy Hirotaka today, and – "

"Pretty," she interrupted. "Very, very pretty." She didn't say any more, but she squeezed his butt, gave him a kiss, and rubbed up against him some more, and that said enough.

It wasn't long before she broke their embrace and said: "Come on. We'd better go." They hadn't had much for sleep in the last forty-eight hours, and they were jet-lagged to boot. Still, Kim sighed as they started to walk away arm-in-arm.

"What?" Ron asked.

"I wish we could do more than just make out a little," she said.

Ron stopped short. "What? Here? Now?" Then he shook off his shock and gave a broad, lecherous grin. "Hey, why not? I'm – "

"Because there are five ninjas watching us," Kim answered. She waved at several random patches of darkness that proceeded to slink away, somehow managing to seem embarrassed. "And I'd rather not give them that much of a show."

Ron could only stare in amazement (and a bit of horror) until Kim wondered aloud if Yori (or Hirotaka, she quickly added) had been among them.

Ron didn't voice his first thought – that Yori would have been _much _harder to spot (_she _had mastered that disappearing-from-plain-sight thing, after all). Instead, he just said: "You know, KP, maybe you should talk to Yori. Not just about me, or about us, but about…stuff. You know. She's a friend worth having. Who knows? Maybe it'll even help you stop jealing for more than five minutes at a time."

Kim grinned, remembering how much her friendship with Monique had "helped" when Hirotaka had come to Middleton. Still, couldn't hurt…and he'd already given her the best help of all. "Maybe," she said. "But not tonight. Let's get to bed."

"Sounds like a plan."

**Day One: Great Smoky Mountains**

Tennessee is fourteen hours behind Tokyo. Thus, at nine p.m., when Kim and Ron were bedding down in their rooms at Yamanouchi, it was seven a.m. at the Flanagan homestead when early-morning visitors made a horrible discovery.

It wasn't difficult to piece together what had happened. Bridget Flanagan (a woman dubbed "Mema" by her eldest grandchild – now a grown man with a baby girl of his own – and known as such by all and sundry) had invited her entire extended family over for a meal of her famous venison stew (the deer having been shot just a wee bit out of season by her son John). They might have noticed that it tasted a bit different this time, for Mema Flanagan had added a new herb to her usual seasonings: Belladonna.

The poison alone might have been enough to kill them all. Certainly, the weakest – the youngest children and the woman herself if she hadn't saved out an undoctored portion of stew for herself – couldn't have lived. But Mema Flanagan had always been thorough: she went around and cut each of her descendant's throats, just as she had when she'd butchered hogs in her youth. Then she had used their blood to write the words "It's Better This Way" on the TV room wall, after which she put her highly-illegal, sawed-off "home security system" in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

The Flanagans' neighbors were devastated, of course. There was shock and grief and horror – and for some, there was a certain superstitious dread. Mema Flanagan had been well-known as the local conjure-woman, equally able to cure your warts and tell you who your sweetheart would be, and she'd been reputed to have the Sight.

Of course it was possible, such neighbors said, that Mema had just plain gone off'n her rocker. You saw things like that on TV all the time, and they'd even happened in these parts now an' agin. But what if that warn't the case? What about that message she'd left?

What if there was something coming that was really so bad that she'd thought it was better to cut off her entire bloodline herself, rather than leave any of them alive to face it?


	7. Squalls: Ill Omens

**Cartomancy**

Samantha Brickman sat cross-legged on the floor of her room as her friend Mitzi Steiner sat across from her and shuffled a deck of Tarot cards. Several of their sorority sisters gathered around, whispering curiously amongst themselves.

"That's right," Samantha encouraged. "Shuffle your questions into the deck. Make sure that your vibrations have entered into every card."

Gawd, but that sounded so ditzy. She couldn't think of a way to say it that was any better, though. And she'd been trying for a while.

She'd gotten her first Tarot deck – this very one, in fact – back in high school, and she'd never regretted it. It was fun at parties, of course (kind of like now, although this wasn't a party of any kind); it gave her a mysterious, slightly spooky air when she wanted it (blond though she was, she'd dressed up as a gypsy for three of the last six Halloweens); and it sometimes even gave her a chance to slip some genuine advice into the readings. If Mitzi asked about her cheating jerk of a boyfriend, for example…

"Okay," Mitzi said, handing back the cards. "I'm done."

"Very well," Samantha began (it sounded more impressive than "all right"). "I'm going to lay out the cards in what's called a five-card spread. The first card – " She drew one from the deck and laid it down: a castle being struck by lightning, with people falling from the shattered parapets. "Represents what is behind you. This," she tapped the card. "Is the Tower. It represents failure, ruin…catastrophe."

Mitzi frowned skeptically. "I think I'd know if I had _that_ in my past," she said.

_Would you, Mitz? Would you really?_

Although she knew the chances were slim, Samantha sincerely hoped that she would draw the Ten of Swords next. The figure lying on the ground with the ten swords in its back, the possible interpretation of betrayal…it would be the perfect lead-in to the advice she wanted to give Mitzi about her boyfriend.

"This card," she intoned, drawing another from the deck, "Represents where you are."

She laid it down, then blinked and stared, her eyes going wide.

The Tower.

Failure. Ruin. Catastrophe.

Mitzi's frown deepened. "Do Tarot decks have more than one of that card?" She asked. "Is it like a Joker?"

"No," Samantha said, pulling out another card and laying it down. Possible future:

The Tower.

Ruin. Catastrophe. Failure.

Another. Method of avoiding that future:

The Tower.

Catastrophe. Failure. Ruin.

Last card. Final outcome:

Failure. Ruin. Catastrophe.

"Is that, like, a trick deck?" Mitzi asked.

Samantha dumped the deck on the floor. Every single one was the Tower.

Failure.

Ruin.

Catastrophe.

"No," Samantha answered in a choked whisper, looking around at her onlooking Sisters. Some were frowning like Mitzi, but others looked almost as terrified as she felt. "It's not."

"Sure it's not," Mitzi complained as she climbed to her feet. "You must think I'm pretty stupid. Well, fine. I don't want to play your silly card game anymore."

**Astrology**

_Scene: A meeting room at the Middleton Space Center. Dr. James Possible enters, accompanied by Professor Ramesh and Professor Robert Chen. They sit down at the table._

Professor Chen: So are you ready to tell us what all this is about yet, Jim?

Dr. Possible: Sorry, Bob. That's need-to-know. I've already told you as much as I can – more than I probably should've. The people in charge of this project didn't want to bring _anyone _in, but I couldn't do it myself. I needed astronomers.

Professor Ramesh: Can you not even tell us who these "people in charge" are? I know this project is government-funded…_all _of the projects are government-funded! But could you at least tell us what _part _of the government?

Dr. Possible: No, I _can't_. I'm serious about this, guys. My…direct supervisor understood why I needed you, but some higher-ups threatened me with jail time when I suggested bringing you in. My supervisor was threatened with disciplinary action for bringing _me _in if I wasn't necessary. It took some fast talking to arrange this, gentlemen, believe you me, so please…just tell me what you've found.

_Ramesh and Chen are silent for a moment, impressed and a bit frightened by the seriousness of the situation._

Professor Chen: Well…we've found _something…_

Professor Ramesh: But we are darned if we know what it is.

_Chen types on a laptop, then turns the screen toward Possible._

Professor Chen (Pointing toward the screen): About all we can say for sure is that there's an anomaly of some kind out near Neptune.

Professor Ramesh: It is big, but we cannot tell you _how_ big. It is headed this way, but we cannot tell you how fast.

Professor Chen: We sure as _hell_ can't get a reading on the composition. (_Sighs_) I wish we could just get a look at it.

Dr. Possible: No!

_Ramesh and Chen both stare at him, startled._

Dr. Possible: That was something that my…source was extremely insistent about. Use whatever other instruments you like, but leave the lens-caps on the telescopes. No visual contact. (_Pause. Grimly_) Call it a safety precaution.

**Extispicy**

Dr. Colleen Possible walked through the much-repaired halls of Global Justice on her way to her first "appointment" of the day, flipping through a folder of medical records and trying to ignore how very familiar they looked.

It would be a few months yet before she was completely denied access to her daughter's medical records. Still, it had been some years since she'd looked. She wasn't Kim's doctor – couldn't be. And there were things that Kim might be reluctant to _tell _her doctor if she knew that Mom was reading over her shoulder.

But right now, if she didn't know better, she would swear that she was looking at them again.

Oh, to be sure, the specific injuries didn't match _exactly_ – although the six stitches to the back of the head (Kim's from a fall at cheer camp, _hers_ from a bump with a plank at one of her father's construction sites) was a bit eerie. It was just that in the text of bumps and bruises, falls, twists and sprains and the occasional break, Colleen Possible could read the story of an active, adventurous, athletic girl, very much like her own. Until the comet, of course.

Oh, look. _Here_ was a substantial difference: Sheila's parents had _declined_ the doctor's suggestion that she start taking the Pill when she was fourteen and her periods were irregular and painful.

_Which, of course, _completely _explains why she blew up Kimmie,_ she reminded herself fiercely. _If you don't watch yourself, Colleen, you'll actually start believing that Mr. Sensei's stories about demonic possession. _

And then she had no more time to play mind games with herself. She'd reached her destination.

She put her hand on the scanner and the door slid open.

----

Over the past few days, since the meeting with Sensei, Drakken had been inventing new medical scanners at a frantic rate, barely pausing to eat or sleep.

Much to his displeasure, "Sheila" had ended up acting as the _de facto _guinea pig for each one. She had volunteered, of course. But then, so had all of her brothers (Hego had been very Grand and Noble about it, while the Wegos had been simply matter-of-fact and Mego quite reluctant – but even he couldn't let his siblings take the risk alone), which may have explained why she volunteered so…enthusiastically. In any case, it was agreed – even by Sheila herself, to a degree – that she was the one that the world would miss the least if something went wrong. Thus her perpetual place at the head of the line.

Drakken was strapping her into one of his devices now. What did he call it? The Cerebral Sifter? Hard to say – like so many of his inventions, it just looked like a chair with some sort of high-tech helmet attached.

The restraints were completely unnecessary. The scan didn't cause convulsions, unconsciousness, or anything of the kind. "Sheila" probably wouldn't even feel it. She probably could have remained cuffed. But no, Drakken seemed to feel some obscure need to strap people into his inventions.

He'd just finished tightening down the strap across her chest and was reaching for her still-free left arm when he suddenly stopped. Then he seemed to collapse in on himself, leaning heavily against the chair for support.

"Drew?" Sheila asked, concerned. "Drew, are you all right?"

"No," Drakken said miserably. "I just…I…it looks like…it's like I'm strapping you down into…"

"It's a medical scanner," Sheila answered quickly. "Remember, Drew? You're trying to help me."

"I know…I know…but so many times…I wasn't. I…" His shoulders started to shake, and he raised a hand to his eyes. "My God, what have I done?" He choked. "One of my college friends picks on me, so I try to torture his daughter? Try to _kill_ her? That's insane! God…my _God_…if I had any children, they could be her age…she could be my own daughter! And I've been…and now she's…"

He started to sob, but still the self-flagellating litany didn't stop: "What have I been doing with my life? Trying to take over the world? Why? So everyone would have to acknowledge my genius? I built _truth_ rays and _youth_ rays…_I regenerated a severed spinal cord!_ Each one of them is a Nobel Prize! _That's _acknowledging my genius! But, no, I had to make people cower, put millions of people in danger…all of the wonderful things I could have done, and I…"

His voice broke, and he couldn't go on. His entire body shook and heaved with the force of his sobs.

"Drew," Sheila soothed, reaching up to touch him with her free hand. "Drew, it's okay. It'll be okay. You never managed to hurt anybody. Kim stopped us both, and now you're trying to set things right. You can – "

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist.

"Drew? What are you – "

He slammed her arm down on the armrest, drawing a yelp (_and her eyes flared green, just for an instant, and then went dark again, so fast that Colleen Possible almost doubted her senses_), and began to strap it down.

"Drew," Sheila said. "Why did you – "

"I'll thank you, _Shego_," He said curtly, cinching the strap down just a _little_ tighter than it needed to be, "To call me by the name I chose for myself. Not all of us are satisfied to let others define us."

She looked up at him for a moment, then closed her eyes and gave a deep, shuddering sigh. How strange; it didn't seem to be anger or hurt, but…grief?

"If that's what you want, Dr. Drakken."

"It is." He pulled the helmet down over her head, locked it into place, and then turned and walked away.

He didn't seem surprised when he noticed Dr. Possible standing by the door. Why should he? He just said "The test subject is ready, doctor," as he walked out the door and was gone.

Colleen Possible finally dared to breathe when the door closed behind him.

At last, she understood how Kim and Ron could so easily buy into that old man's stories, if they'd seen Shego do something like that in Drakken's lair. Drew's mood shifts could very easily have been a bit of acting, something to convince any watchers that he was either insane or remorseful.

The color shifts would have been a bit harder to pull off. When she'd walked in, his skin had been the same corpselike blue pallor it had been for as long as Kim had been fighting him, but when he'd had his little breakdown, he'd looked almost normal.

And when he'd stormed out, he'd been midnight blue.

She remembered what Mr. Sensei had said about the situation growing more dangerous, and more unstable.

Something told her – she didn't know what, and she didn't like that, but she couldn't deny it anyway – that whatever was left of Drew Lipsky was being submerged in…something else. Struggling, screaming for help, trying to send some warning, but sinking nonetheless.

Well, even if that was the case, there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it (something _else_ she didn't like). All she could do was deal with what she had in front of her. The test s…the _patient_ was waiting.

And that strap needed to be loosened a little.

**Author's Note: Short chapter, I know. Believe it or not, the dream in the plane on the way to Yamanouchi and all of the "Squalls" chapters (there's two more to go) were all supposed to be a single chapter. As you can imagine, it would've a) been a bit huge and b) taken forever.**

**And by the way: the first two section headings are probably easy to figure out. The last one – "Extispicy" – means divination by reading the guts of sacrificial animals. **


	8. Interlude: Safe Harbor

During their first full day at Yamanouchi, Kim and Ron were very tired, listless, and lackluster. They still made a reasonable showing at their classes, but nowhere near what Sensei knew they were capable of. He wondered why: surely they were accustomed to a bit of jet lag?

The second day was even worse. They were clearly dragging themselves through on sheer stubbornness (mostly Possible-san's), and they could barely keep up. But now, Sensei suspected that he _knew_ why.

He gave them the third day off, because he _did_ know. That was because, during the previous night, they had both woken up screaming and charged _through_ the paper walls of two intervening dorm rooms to meet in the third, where they stood over the sleeping mat of a confused Junior, holding each other tight and stammering things about inquisitions and witches and "secret Jews" and "Why did it have to be fire again? I could develop a whole new phobia over this!"

It took about an hour to patch the damaged walls and get the other students (who had, to the youngest first-year, come running when the screaming had begun – something that made Sensei quite proud) settled back in their beds. When that was done, he sought out Stoppable-san and Possible-san – who he really _was_ starting to think of as Ron-san and Kim-san – in one of the school's recreation rooms, where they had curled up together on a couch. He'd half-expected to find them asleep, but it only took one look to tell him that they weren't going to fall asleep again any time soon – even with Rufus-san scurrying between them, nuzzling and making soothing noises.

They rose to their feet as he entered the room, but he waved them back down onto the couch.

He saw anxiety rise in their bloodshot eyes as he slowly, carefully, sat down. He suspected that he knew what the source of that anxiety was, and that gave him an idea.

"You are still having the dreams," he said without preamble. It wasn't a question.

Ron-san opened his mouth, then closed it again, simply nodding instead. Rufus-san, standing on his shoulder, also nodded – with his whole body, as was his way, saying "Uh-huh, uh-huh," as he did.

Surprisingly, it was Kim-san whose tongue immediately started running like a spooked horse. Perhaps she always responded so to displeased authority figures. "Yes, we are, and I'm so sorry we're disrupting your school like this, but – "

Sensei held up his hand, and she fell silent, though her mouth worked for a few moments more.

"There is no need to apologize, Possible-san," He said. "It is hardly the first time that one of my students has suffered a nightmare."

"But – "

"You _are_ students here," he said, cutting off her protest. "And assisting you through your difficulties is not a burden, but my duty. Now, come:" He slowly, carefully climbed to his feet (sternly smothering a twinge of envy as he watched their young, straight limbs effortlessly perform the same task). "I believe that I may have a solution to your problem – we shall attempt it before turning to anything more extreme. Please follow me."

When they hesitated, just a moment, clearly nervous about what awaited them, he tested his theory: "Unless you would prefer to simply return to your separate rooms?" He emphasized the word "separate", and they all but ran after him, the anxiety in their eyes flaring to full-blown fear.

Ah.

Their nervousness remained as he led them out the dormitory door, and it was supplemented by a healthy dose of confusion as he led them straight past the infirmary.

Where was he taking them? Surely that was what they were wondering. He allowed himself a slight smile – he doubted that any of their guesses would even come close.

Their confusion and anxiety continued to mount as he led them across the darkened campus. Finally, he reached a small building on the edge of it, just inside the back gate. They had walked past it on the way in, but of course they hadn't noticed it in the commotion. He unlocked the door and led them in.

"This is our guest house," he said, answering their question before they could ask it. "Please forgive that it has not been aired out, but we seldom have visitors, and your dreams could not have been foreseen. This is what you would call the 'living room', I believe. Over there is the kitchen – though you will still be expected to take meals with the other students. There is the toilet – I apologize that there is no bath – " He saw Kim-san's wince and sympathized with it entirely. Perhaps a year ago, sharing a Japanese-style public bath with the other girls would have been something that she could have become accustomed to relatively easily. Surely she had showered with her teammates in Middleton, after all. But now…well, best to just press on. "And over there is the bedroom."

Wait for it…

"Excuse me…Master Sensei?" Ron asked. "Bedroom? Singular?"

"Why, yes, Stoppable-san. That was entirely the point. Did you believe that I was bringing you out here merely to isolate you from the rest of the school?"

They looked at each other, then down at Rufus-san – who just shrugged – then each other again, then finally back at him. "Well…yeah," Kim-san answered.

"Isolation is the last thing that you need," Sensei explained. "I have noticed that the two of you immediately turn to each other for comfort after these dreams – which only makes sense, given what you've told me of their nature. Unless you have_ not_ turned to each other for comfort the last few nights, which could explain why you have slept so poorly…"

They just looked at each other again.

"Given that," he continued. "It occurred to me that if you slept _together_, you could comfort each other immediately, perhaps allowing you to return to sleep more quickly. I scarcely dare hope, but perhaps the dreams may be eliminated altogether."

"Sleep together?" Kim-san squeaked, unable to believe that an adult was suggesting such a thing.

"Certainly. Of course, if the two of you should choose to take advantage of the situation – "

So _that _was what it looked like when someone with skin as fair as Kim-san's blushed.

" – I urge you to exercise caution. Yamanouchi's infirmary is as well-stocked as a small hospital, and that includes several methods of contraception. Do you expect that you will need any?"

Oh, dear. The poor girl was turning _purple_. Even Ron-san was blushing furiously now.

"We don't encourage such activities, of course," Sensei continued. "And most of our students are too exhausted by our physical regimen and too frustrated by our lack of privacy to pursue them. But we are realistic about adolescents, and we prefer preparation to denial. So I repeat: is there anything that you need?"

They glanced at each other again, almost shyly this time, then turned back to him.

"No," Kim-san answered in a tiny voice. "I…uh…have my own."

If she expected so much as a raised eyebrow, she was surprised.

"Good," he nodded. "Then I shall leave you now. You may retrieve your belongings tomorrow – you are excused from classes so you can rest and be ready for the next day. Good night."

----

Left alone, Kim and Ron looked back and forth between each other and the bed.

"So…sleeping together," Ron said at last.

"Sleeping together," Kim agreed.

"I can't believe that Master Sensei – "

"Well, he did," Kim interrupted. "And he's right. This might be just what we need."

"You think?" Ron asked, startled.

"Sure! I mean, this doesn't have to be a big, Ron. We've well…slept together, so I think we can handle _sleeping together_-sleeping together."

"Is that what we're going to do?" Ron asked cautiously.

Kim hesitated. Sometimes she could still hardly believe that hot summer afternoon in Ron's house had actually happened. Most of the time – like the night they'd arrived at Yamanouchi – she wanted it to happen again…and again…and again…as often as they had the opportunity. But now that they _had_ the opportunity – given and sanctioned by the local Adult Authority Figure no less (and can we take a moment to get our minds around that concept?) – she felt almost…shy. In a way she hadn't had time to feel in the desperate need of their First Time.

Wow. Guess it was still a Big Deal after all. Must take more than once to really get used to it.

"For tonight, at least," she answered. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, there is that," Ron agreed. "So…just sleep?"

"Yeah," Kim nodded, pulling back a corner of the blanket (it _did_ smell a bit musty, but not bad – apparently there was _some_ upkeep out here, whether they had regular guests or not). "Yeah. Just sleep."

They quickly discovered what many couples have discovered before them: while it is dangerously easy to doze off mid-cuddle or post-coitus, it can be a bit trickier to deliberately climb into a bed and try to find a mutually comfortable position to "just sleep". Elbows and knees end up in uncomfortable places; arms that seem to just find the right way to wrap around in other circumstances somehow feel oppressively heavy, or are uncomfortable to lie on, or end up falling asleep; someone tosses and turns a bit too much as they settle in; someone's a "sprawler"; the extra ninety-eight-point-six in the bed makes somebody warm enough to push off the covers…which makes them cold enough to pull the covers back up five minutes later.

It didn't help that, exhausted as the two teens both were, there were some parts of them that _definitely _weren't feeling sleepy.

That was less of a problem for Ron. Quite frankly, a teenage boy who can't sleep with a hard-on is a teenage boy who doesn't sleep at all.

Kim, on the other hand, was still squirming and trying to make herself comfortable, trying to shut her mind off (though it was already halfway into fevered dreams), when they decided to try spooning. Mistake. Oh, there's nothing wrong with spooning itself, though there's always an extra arm with nowhere to go. But when she felt Ron's hardness pressing up against her pajama-clad bottom, she gasped, her hips started to move on their own, and that was the end of it.

----

Rufus pushed the bedroom door closed, scampered into the "living room", and curled up on a cushion. His humans were being noisy, but at least they were happy noises. Much easier to deal with than the terror-sounds and whimpering of the last few nights. It wouldn't last long, not as tired as they were.

He shook his little pink head and made a noise of disgust as he settled down to his own sleep.

Humans. Mated, and not nesting together? Nesting together, and not mating? Of _course _they couldn't sleep! As far as he was concerned, they had no right to call any other creature "dumb animals".

**Author's Note: Sorry that the chapters are so short and taking so long lately, but my RL has been a bit busy. Have no fear – I may have slowed down, but I have no intention of stopping.**

**I wanted to include this scene as part of a larger chapter – some seriousness with the smuff – but I decided "What the hell?" K&R are going to need a happy place to go back to soon enough, and y'all may, too.**

**More coming very, very soon.**


	9. Squalls: Training

The next three weeks at Yamanouchi were extremely eventful.

**Training – White Belt**

Dawn breaks over Yamanouchi. Kim and Ron stand on the exercise line with the rest of the students, looking much happier and better-rested.

Rufus stands far enough to the side to be out of danger of being stepped on, joining the human students in their katas and calisthenics.

----

Ron reaches the head of the line in front of Master Lunch Lady and attempts to grab a sushi roll from her tray. Master Lunch lady snatches the tray away, and he fails. He tries again. And again. And again, until the two of them are blurs of grabbing and snatching motion. Kim – right behind Ron – catches his arm, gently moves him aside, grabs _two_ rolls and gives him one.

----

Kim, Ron, and Rufus sit in a row in the lotus position, their eyes closed. Rufus immediately floats up and out of the frame. Ron lifts up an inch or two, hovers, grimaces with the effort, then settles back to the floor. Kim remains firmly planted, finally frowning, opening her eyes, and looking enviously at the boys.

----

"This probably comes as no great surprise to you, Stoppable-san, but Monkey Fist is a madman. He is obsessed with monkeys for their own sake, and does not understand that the Monkey is simply a guardian spirit, a…how would you say it? A totem animal. Not insignificant, by any means – the Monkey is our true sensei – but not the beginning and ending of magic."

----

Kim reluctantly picks up a katana and a wakizashi, frowns at them for a moment, sighs, and begins to practice with them.

----

Ron stares at a spoon. And stares at it. And stares at it. Finally, in frustration, he grabs it and twists it into a knot.

Sensei taps him on the shoulder, frowning.

Ron winces – caught! – sighs, and goes back to staring at the now-twisted spoon.

Rufus sits beside him, staring at a spoon nearly his own size, which twists and bends like a snake.

----

Evening. Classes and the day's various workouts are over.

Kim stands outside a closed door, wrapped in a towel. She takes a deep breath and goes in.

The conversation in the girls' baths stops.

Kim keeps her towel in place as long as she can, but she finally has to hang it up.

Her coloration makes her stand out like a rose among orchids, but that isn't the reason for the staring or the silence. She gets into the tub, and conversation – much muted and fairly uncomfortable – resumes.

She washes as quickly as she can, gets out, wraps herself up again, and walks out. Conversation returns to its previous level – plus a few sneers, snickers, and pitying looks cast toward the door that Kim entered and left through.

Yori doesn't rejoin the conversation. She just looks at the water, her face troubled and a little ashamed, and she gets out soon after.

----

"Monkey Fist speaks often of the Monkey King, but his understanding of even that is limited. Sun Wukong, the Handsome Monkey King – the one that Monkey Fist reveres and speaks of as _the _Monkey King – was something of a criminal in Heaven until he was tamed by the Buddha: a prankster and a thief, a bringer of disorder and anarchy. But that is the very reason that he would never approve of Monkey Fist's attempts to conquer the world – to dominate and control, to impose his _own_ order. The Handsome Monkey King favors no order at all."

"But there is another Monkey King, one that Monkey Fist is either unaware of or – more likely – chooses not to acknowledge. One that you may find a better – how would you say it? – a better role-model. That Monkey King is Hanuman, the great hero of the Indian epic poem, the _Ramayana. _ A figure of great cleverness and courage, but his greatest virtue – and this is what made me think of him in connection to you, Stoppable-san – is selfless devotion."

"So you see, while the Monkey is a Trickster, you have your choice as to which Trickster you emulate. And…"

_Pause._

"Stoppable-san."

"Yes, Master Sensei?"

"You are listening politely, and yet I suspect that I may as well be telling you the plot of a movie I recently watched."

_Blush_

"What makes you say that?"

"In my chosen profession – both as a ninja and as a teacher – it is often necessary to read body language and determine what someone is _truly_ thinking. After all these years of practice, my aptitude for both professions would be poor indeed if I could not tell when someone was humoring me."

"Humoring you? That's not – "

"Stoppable-san, you find my words interesting, but not convincing. You hide it so poorly that you might as well say so aloud – something else I must teach you how to correct. I must know why, or we can proceed no further. Please be honest."

_Ron sighs and looks down._

"It's just…I don't…this is _me_, Sensei."

_Sensei smiles wryly._

"I was reasonably certain that an impostor could not have fooled both Possible-san and myself for so long, Stoppable-san."

_Ron flushes, but presses on._

"Sometimes, I gotta wonder. I mean, all this talk about magicians, and world-save-age, and me…me!…as a key world-save-age figure. I keep waiting for you to realize that you've got the wrong guy."

"Is it that difficult for you to see yourself as a person of power?"

_Ron, amazed that he's even being asked such an obvious question: _ "Well…yeah! I mean, it's hard to think of yourself as being a 'person of power' when you've got a teacher who points out – in detail – how small and weak you are, and you've been on the expensive end of D-hall shakedowns for years. But forget that. I'm the sidekick! Villains don't remember my name! Reporters get it wrong! Half the time I hit the button that turns off the Planetbuster bomb, but the other half I trip and knock KP over and let the bad guy get away! _She's_ the world-saver!"

"And you still think of yourself so, even after your battles with Shego and Monkey Fist? When even Possible-san has learned better, and insisted that all the world recognize you as her partner?"

"Which isn't working, which says something. And the thing with Shego and Monkey Fist was a total fluke. I went a little crazy last summer after Kim got hurt. I couldn't do it again."

_Quietly_: "Possible-san was in perfect health when you prevented Monkey Fist from using the full power of the jade statues, or from stealing the Lotus Blade."

_Ron holds up a finger and opens his mouth, then closes it._

"Stoppable-san, you have always been a being of power. Rufus-san became your familiar before you even met Monkey Fist."

_Ron tries and fails to hide a brief frown at the word "familiar". Sensei pauses, wondering why, but decides to press on._

"And did you never find it interesting that your luck is nothing short of miraculous at preventing catastrophe, even if it does allow you to suffer embarrassment and inconvenience?"

"Well…actually, I was usually too busy dealing with the embarrassment and inconvenience to think about it."

_If Sensei were anyone else, he would be staring in amazement._

"You never concerned yourself with the disasters you averted?"

"Why should I? They were averted."

"You are truly remarkable, Stoppable-san. Small wonder the Trickster shows you such favor."

"The who?"

"The spirit of mischief. Like Sun Wukong or Hanuman…like the Monkey."

"The which?"

"You have always lived as the Trickster: trusting to luck, tricks, and cleverness instead of careful planning or brute force. Squandering great wealth, yet finding joy in poverty. Mocking and humiliating your enemies, speaking uncomfortable truths to your friends. Loving many women and – although you didn't often notice it at the time – being loved by many in return…"

"Oh, now you're just making me blush."

"…refusing to be 'normal', even when those around you might have preferred otherwise. Yes." _Sensei smiles the smile of someone who has found the answer to a question that's been troubling him. _"It would not surprise me if your inexplicable tendency to lose your trousers for no visible reason at all was the Trickster's own joke on _you_, to keep you humble. And leading you to a source of additional power that forces you to face your greatest fear is exactly the sort of thing that Trickster would do. Even – or perhaps _especially_ – a benevolent one, like Hanuman."

"Have you considered the possibility that I'm just a clumsy guy who's bad with money who's gotten lucky a couple of times?"

_Slightly taken aback:_ "Of course I have, Stoppable-san. You _are_ those things. But you are also more."

"Are you sure? I mean, it'd have to be pretty good evidence to support all this stuff about gods, and tricksters, and…I don't mean to be disrespectful – "

_Sensei frowns slightly. Ron-san doesn't realize that he's _already _being disrespectful. Cultural differences. Ah, well, he did say "be honest."_

"But this all seems kinda…I don't know…I hate to put it this way, but…far-fetched."

_Sensei raises an eyebrow._

"Most would find the attributes Steel-toe and Pain King to be farfetched, Stoppable-san."

"Yeah, but that's _science_."

"You are not a man of science, Stoppable-san. You understand it no more than you understand magic. Less, I should think."

"Yeah, but at least I know it's _real_."

_Sensei falls silent for a long moment. Stoppable-san knows very well that magic is real. He has witnessed it, used it personally. His denial is not scientific skepticism, like that of the doctors Possible, so…_

_Of course._

"I must apologize, Stoppable-san."

"You must?"

"Yes. This is an obstacle I should have foreseen."

"You should?"

_Pause._

"Stoppable-san…I, like many in Japan, consider myself to be both Shinto and Buddhist. One can placate the spirits and still improve oneself, neh? I have also found much that is of use to me in Taoist philosophy. That is our way in many lands of the East. I do not claim that religions and philosophies are always in harmony – they do compete, sometimes violently – but in practice, among the common people instead of the devotees, there is little of your Western insistence on a single God, a single Truth. It is as they say in a certain movie that I find quite entertaining: 'we take what we want, and leave the rest. Like your salad bar'."

"That is why I failed to foresee the difficulty you are experiencing: it comes from a source that is totally foreign, one that did not even occur to me. But it should have. I have studied the myths and religions of the world, searching for clues about my order's great enemy and – more importantly – clues how to defeat it. After all of that study, I should have realized the need for One God and One Truth is not easily overcome…especially for a people who have clung to that Truth through such adversity."

_Pause. Silence as Ron considers this._

"That could be it. I mean, it's never been much of a big for me before – except for this one time I found out that Rabbi Katz hadn't signed off on my certificate at my bar mitzvah, that messed with my head for a little while – but I've been kinda slapped upside the head with being Jewish a few times lately. There was this _really _nasty letter I got last spring…"

_Softly._ "Stoppable-san…you know that it would change the substance of my message not at all if you were to think of the servants of the Celestial Emperor as angels instead of gods. In either case, the Trickster would be his court jester…and in either case, the Unshaper makes for a very creditable devil."

"Yeah, that _does_ help a little…maybe you're right about this. Rabbi Katz really grilled us on how un-Jewish magic and idolatry were, so maybe that gave me a complex."

"Yet another."

"Right! Problem is, that only solves half the problem."

"There is a tradition of Jewish White Magic, Stoppable-san. Of course, that tradition insisted that its practitioners be middle-aged and married, well-grounded enough so that they were neither led astray nor driven mad by their researches. Perhaps if you thought of it as a scientific force that you can somehow manipulate, as the Doctors Possible do?"

"Nah, can't do that. Want to. Can't. Already tried."

"Perhaps if you thought of yourself as Samson?"

_Ron stares in disbelief._

"In the sense of having divinely-granted special abilities, not in terms of the exact nature of those abilities…though there _is_ some similarity."

_Ron thinks about if for a moment._

"Don't _want_ to believe that one. Part of the point of the story is that you're just asking for trouble if you marry anyone other than a nice Jewish girl."

_Sensei sighs and slowly rises to his feet. Ron quickly does the same._

"Then we can accomplish nothing more here tonight. You believe in neither yourself nor the magic, and in this endeavor, belief is everything."

"Master Sensei – "

"I had expected some difficulty in convincing you of your own power, but this other obstacle I had not foreseen. I can hope that the Celestial Emperor will send you some sign of his permission and approval, but such intervention cannot be taken for granted, and we have little time to spend waiting for it. I must consider what to do next."

----

Hirotaka pulls a rope that opens a small dam, releasing a torrent of water from the glacier onto himself and several other advanced students, including Kim, Ron, Rufus, and Yori.

Hirotaka himself is completely unaffected. Even his hair stays perfect.

Yori is similarly impassive.

Kim's eyes fly open, but it's only a moment before she's able to close them and return to her meditation.

Ron hugs himself, his teeth chattering and his skin turning blue.

Rufus squeals and shoots straight up and out, seemingly climbing the air itself.

----

Kim and Hirotaka spar. It's clear from some of the moves she uses that she's learning a seventeenth form of kung fu: Tai Xing Pek War.

----

Ron scrapes disconsolately at a rock garden with a rake, doing nothing in particular. At his feet, Rufus pushes individual pebbles around. In the distance, Sensei watches with a frown of concern on his face.

----

Kim comes out of the girls' baths and closes the door behind her. Then she leans back against the door, puts a hand over her eyes, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Then she lowers her hand, raises her head, stands straight, takes another deep breath, and walks away.

**Jealousy**

Yori stood on the walls of Yamanouchi and watched the sun sink behind the mountains.

She wasn't on guard duty or performing any other such chore (though, as chores went, she liked guard duty better than most – Possible-san and Stoppable-san would probably never know the drudgery that their "crash course" curriculum had spared them). It was just that, in eight years at Yamanouchi, she had never tired of the view.

She heard Possible-san approaching long before she arrived, which Yori took to mean that the other girl was making no attempt to sneak up on her. Whatever other difficulties she might be having at Yamanouchi, Possible-san had never been poor at stealth.

"Hey, Yori."

"Good evening, Possible-san."

She hadn't turned from the panorama before her to see the other girl, but Yori could sense Possible-san's frown.

"Should I call you something else?" Possible-san asked. "It feels weird to just call you 'Yori' if you're going to call me by name and honorific."

"It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. Do you wish to address me formally, or should I address you informally?"

"Um…informally, please and thank you. I hear Ron keep asking you to call him Ron-san – "

"So you shall be Kim-san."

"If that's okay."

Poss…Kim-san leaned against the wall, finally coming into Yori's view, if only peripherally.

"It's beautiful," she said, looking out over the same panorama that Yori had been.

"I have always thought so," Yori agreed, and there was a moment of companionable silence as they watched the final red sliver of the Sun disappear.

----

Kim watched the Sun vanish – it really _was _a gorgeous view – and tried to think of what to say next. She'd come up here to finally talk things out with Yori, and they were off to a slow start. Not bad, exactly, but slow. Now they'd fallen silent, and unless _someone_ said something, that silence would continue until they said their polite good-nights and went to their rooms.

She had a feeling that she was the one who would have to do it. But what should she _say_?

Annnd she was right back at the beginning.

Oh, hell. She couldn't think of what to say, so she was just going to have to say what she was thinking. It wasn't like the situation could get worse.

"Ron said I should talk to you," she said.

It seemed to be the right thing. It sure caught Yori's attention. For the first time, the ninja turned from the view of evening settling over the mountains to look at her. "He did?" She asked.

Kim nodded. "He told me that you were a friend worth having," she said.

"He did?" Yori asked again, a little breathlessly.

Kim nodded again. "And he's usually right about things like that." She paused, and a fond, rueful smile broke out on her face as she thought about the things Ron could be right and wrong about. "Of course, he comes to his conclusions by a logic that has no resemblance to our Earth logic, but he's usually right. About things like that."

Yori broke out into a remarkably similar grin of her own, and Kim realized just how rarely she had seen this reserved girl smile. "True. Ron-san does prefer to depend on his…how do you say? Instinct? No, intuition…than anything resembling a thought process."

They laughed at that, and when they were done, the ice seemed to be just a _little_ bit thawed and cracked around the edges.

"So," Yori said. "Are we to talk about Stoppable-san, then?"

"Why not?" Kim shrugged. "He's something we have in common."

The smile faded from Yori's face at that, and she looked back out at the mountains.

_Damn. _

"Yori, look, I didn't mean it like that, I just…"

Yori wasn't listening.

Kim wanted to take the other girl by the shoulders and make her turn back, but she had the feeling that touching a ninja without explicit permission was a _bad_ idea, even if she thought she could win the fight. Which she did.

She took a deep breath. Okay. Only one way to salvage the sitch now. Go for it total, unabashed Ron-style.

She leaned on the wall beside Yori, looked out into the darkness, and started to talk: "Look, Yori…it's no secret that I jeal at every girl who even looks at Ron sideways, or _anyone_ who takes some of his time away from me. I can't hide it. Try to. Can't."

"Your first day here was an example of these attempts to 'hide it'?" Yori asked coolly.

"Actually, I was doing better than usual," Kim said. "When Ron was hanging out with his buddy Felix – "

"The boy with the flying wheelchair?"

"Yeah. This one time, when Ron was spending all his time with Felix in preparation for this big charity video game tournament, I tried to join them, and I…" She was glad that the darkness hid her blush. "I ate all his nacos."

Polite and reserved Yori might be, but that sure sounded like a stifled giggle coming from her direction.

"A terrible vengeance," she said.

_Definite_ suppressed giggling. Oh, well. At least the ice was melting again.

"Yes, well, he forgave me," Kim said, grinning. Then her grin faded and she looked back out over the mountains, to where the stars were appearing in the sky. "And I'm glad he did. He helped me through some things last summer that not even Ron could have." She could _feel _Yori staring at her in amazement over that. "Don't get me wrong," she continued. "Ron is the one who got me through. But there were some things that he just didn't know how to deal with, and Felix is Middleton's resident expert on life-changing injuries. He taught me some ways to deal that have gotten me over some ferociously rough spots."

"May I ask…what did he teach you?" Yori asked. Was she actually being timid, or was that just her usual quietness?

"Mostly to deal with it boy-style," Kim answered. "To be proud of my scars and how I got them. I mean, I got blown up by a supervillain while protecting a cafeteria full of my classmates. That earns me some bragginess."

"I should say it does."

"So…yeah," Kim said, pushing past what could have been another gap in the conversation. "Ron was right about Felix, and from what I've seen, he's right about you. I hope so, anyway, because if he is, talking things out with you might actually help me stop jealing for more than five minutes at a time."

She chuckled – weakly – but there was only silence from Yori. This time, Kim didn't try to fill it. She'd made her appeal, now she had to wait for Yori's answer. The ball was in the other girl's court.

She hated it when that happened.

"Perhaps I wish you to remain jealous, Kim-san," Yori said at last.

Kim turned to stare at her in confusion, but the ninja was just a shape in the dark.

"It seems only fair. After all, I am deeply jealous of you."

"I'm…sorry to hear that," Kim said. And she was. She'd just started making her peace with Bonnie Rockwaller, and she was finding that it felt better than she'd ever imagined winning could. She didn't _want_ a new rival.

Then there was a gleam in the darkness. Was Yori smiling?

"You misunderstand, Kim-san. I will not attempt to take Stoppable-san away from you, nor will I waste away and never love again because I cannot have him."

"Uh…that's good. So…if I misunderstand, what _do_ you mean?"

"A moment, Kim-san," Yori said as the gleam faded. "I search for a way to explain without being more rude than I have ever been."

"We beat each other up all day, but you're worried about being rude?"

"Yes. Please – a moment."

Kim waited. It seemed like forever, but then, it always did in sitches like this.

Hated it. _Hated_ it.

Finally, Yori sighed.

"It seems that there is no such way. Do you still wish to know?"

Kim wanted to say something witty. Something about how she was in love with Ron, so rude was something she was used to. Or about how nothing Yori could say could match up to Bonnie Rockwaller on a bad day. Or about –

"Yes."

"Do you know why the other girls shun you?" Yori asked. That _was_ blunt.

Kim decided to respond in kind. "Because I'm the funny-looking outsider who tags along with the _real_ hero?"

Pause. "I'm surprised that you would speak so of yourself…or Stoppable-san."

"Ron's told me a lot about what happened the last time he was here. Not everything – he says that there are some things that are up to Sensei to tell me – but enough. Am I right?"

Yori hesitated. Kim couldn't see the reluctance on the other girl's face, but then, she didn't need to. She appreciated that hesitation, whether it came from actual concern for her feelings or simple politeness. But she knew that there could only be one answer.

"There is that," Yori admitted at last. "But that is not all – it is not even most."

"There's _more_?"

"Kim-san, you don't understand," Yori said. "You are everything that we fear."

"Me?" Kim said in a voice that didn't have much breath in it.

She was amazed how much it hurt. Her earlier aggression about being the "funny-looking outsider" had been a kind of self-defense. It was easier to hear from her own mouth than someone else's. Like taking her make-up off when she walked out the front door of Middleton High, it was a kind of defiance. But apparently it was even worse than she'd thought; she wasn't just an outsider, she was a _monster_.

"Not you," Yori continued. "But what you represent."

Oh. _So _much better. "And what is that?" Kim asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She _had _ told the Yori that she wanted to know, after all.

"All of the girls here have chosen the path of the warrior," Yori said. "And we are all very brave. We fear neither death nor pain. But because we are women, because we are Japanese, we fear something else."

Kim made the connection: "Ending up like me."

The other girl nodded – Kim could see the movement in the dark. "Hai. In its way, Japan can be even more demanding of women than the West. To be ideal, we must be young, unblemished, perfect…every girl fears to be 'Christmas Cake'."

"Christmas cake?"

"No good after the twenty-fifth."

"Birthday?"

"Birthday."

"Just checking." That _was_ even harsher, and that was saying a lot. She was starting to understand. Maybe it would even start hurting less soon. "And I'm what could happen to any of you if your 'cake' got smashed, right?"

"As you say."

"I assume that's not why you're jealing at me."

"No, Kim-san, though I do admire the courage with which you face your misfortune. I am jealous of you because in spite of everything, Stoppable-san would have no other. I can only hope that someday, I will be as beautiful to someone as you are to him. But I have no reason to expect it."

Kim had no answer for that. Just like the first time Ron had said the same thing to her in the hospital, it was too simple and too huge for words.

So it was Yori who finally broke the silence: "I know it must seem foolish to worry about such a thing when we could face death – "

"So not," Kim interrupted. "I almost lost the Diablo fight before it even began because Drakken had me distracted with a syntho-hottie."

There was that gleam in the dark again, and Kim suddenly realized that she'd accomplished what she'd set out to do.

"It occurs to me…Kim-san…that we are standing on the windswept castle wall and baring our souls like characters in a bad samurai movie."

"It isn't really that windy."

"The point remains. This boy – Felix – he taught you good things. Perhaps boys do have wisdom of their own, despite all appearances. But how long has it been since you were a girl?"

Well, _that _was a weird question…or was it? How long _had_ it been? Monique had taken her shopping a few times over the summer, but with the threat of Shego hanging over them all, she'd been too worried to relax, let go of the Teen Hero, and just…be a girl. She'd hoped that school would be her chance to do that, but…

"Too long," she said.

"Then come," Yori said, taking her by the hand and leading her back into the compound. "I believe that I have the appropriate materials in my room. We have a few hours before we must sleep, and – " They were entering a lighted area, so Kim could see that the Japanese girl's grin was just slightly wicked this time. "There are several things I wish to know about Stoppable-san."

----

They spent as long as they dared (they still had to get up at four the next morning, after all) that night gossiping, giggling, and grooming each other.

The next day, the small changes that Kim had been able to make in Yori's utilitarian bob were gone, and her own hair had come out of the braid that Yori had put it in during the night (some while she was asleep, some when she was very, very awake).

That was okay. That hadn't been the point.

Besides, not everything was gone. Glitter nail polish still sparkled defiantly at the tips of Kim's scarred hands, and those who knew to look saw that Yori's fingers carried the same sparkle.

**Breakthrough**

Ron was back out in his rock garden, once again aimlessly running his rake through the pebbles, when it happened.

Rufus was pushing a fist-sized rock into an arrangement that he found aesthetically pleasing when suddenly he popped up onto his hind legs like a meerkat and started looking around.

"What is it, Rufus?" Ron asked. "Kimmy fall down a well?"

He was joking, but it was really to cover his own unease. He felt the same thing that Rufus was feeling – or he felt _something_, anyway, and it felt like his stomach after eating Duff Killigan's haggis. Something was wrong.

Rufus stopped searching and started to bounce and point, chattering too fast for even Ron to follow.

"Ease with the tweakage, buddy," Ron said, dropping to one knee beside his friend. "What's wrong?" Fear suddenly flared. "_Is_ Kim in trouble?"

"Uh-uh-uh!" Rufus cried, shaking his entire body 'no'. "Uh-uh-uh!" Then he resumed pointing and jabbering.

"Rufus, you're gonna have to slow – "

In the midst of his leaping and shrieking, Rufus's eyes happened to meet his human's, and they suddenly locked.

_Pain._

_Help! Now!_

_There._

Ron suddenly knew where to go, and he knew why, as surely as if he was standing there. He dropped his rake and took off at a speed that a cheetah would have been hard-pressed to match, contrails of golden light streaming behind him.

----

Kim was just outside the entrance to the rock gardens, coming to hang with her BF for a little while before supper when Ron blew past her like a golden-glowing comet.

"Ron? Where are you - ?"

But Ron was already fifty yards away across the practice yard, leaping _over _Hirotaka and his sparring partner, leaving them gaping and staring.

Kim's own shock was about to break when there was a tug at her ankle. She looked down to see Rufus, bouncing, pointing in the direction that Ron had just gone, and chattering frantically. His command of English seemed to be entirely gone, but Kim was pretty sure she understood him anyway.

"Right," she said, scooping him up and putting him on her shoulder. "Hold on tight." With an affirmative noise, he coiled himself tightly in her hair – the days when she thought he was too gross to hold were long, long gone – and she took off.

Though she didn't know it, her sprint as she crossed and exited Yamanouchi broke several Olympic records. She couldn't catch up to Ron – especially considering that she was forced to bounce off several walls, climb a few buildings, and use a board that one of the advanced students was about to break as a springboard to get around the staring crowds that he had left in his wake – but she arrived just in time to see him jump into a ravine just outside the school's walls.

"Ron!" She cried, running even faster. That ravine was dangerous. The banks had been undercut by the spring rains, and a rockslide could happen at any time. Sensei had forbidden it to all students. And Ron had just jumped into it without so much as slowing down to look where he was going.

She paused at the edge just long enough to take in the situation – long enough to realize that there had, indeed, been a rockslide recently. As in minutes ago recently. Long enough to see that Ron was healthy, thirty feet down, and levering rocks that weighed at least as much as he did up and off – oh, God, there was a hand sticking out from that pile like a banner waving "mayday", clutching and grasping weaker and weaker.

Her mind and her eyes working very, very fast, Kim picked out several boulders that looked too deeply lodged in the ravine wall to move easily, chose two, and covered the distance to Ron's side in three long bounds.

Without a word, she joined in with the digging.

Granite. Even heavier than they looked. But Ron had already moved the big ones. She picked up one the size of her head, tossed it away, and bent to grab another.

Ron was blazing golden beside her, throwing fifty-pound rocks across the ravine like they were softballs. She didn't like to think of what nightmares this was probably bringing back to him – after all, she would never remember the moments that would torture him for the rest of his life.

She'd kiss them away later. Someone was _under_ these rocks.

Then they were down to fist-sized rocks and gravel and dirt and starting to clear away –

Oh, God. Oh, _God_.

It was a student. Somewhere in the middle years. Maybe. They'd seen him around – he was one of Ron's particularly persistent and boisterous hangers-on. Maybe.

It was really quite hard to tell.

Kim had seen injuries before. In her rescue work, she was often called upon to deal with the results of accidents, and as a crime fighter she'd seen her share of violence. But she'd never seen anything like _this_, such a complete and total…_violation_ of the basic integrity of a human body.

Ron had. Once.

It wasn't just that there was blood and broken bones – although there were plenty of both. It was that the boy – who could have been one of the tweebs, give or take a year – had been molded into a whole new _shape _by the rocks. His body was the wrong shape to be human anymore, or at least human and alive: there were concavities where there were supposed to be convexities, and except for the section of his arm that had been visible, everything that was supposed to be straight was bent and skewed.

They boy's breath rasped and gurgled, and a fine red mist settled on his lips.

Ron dropped to his knees.

"Ron," Kim said, tugging at his shoulder, not realizing that her voice was cracking and not understanding why her vision was blurring. "Ron, you have to back away."

She looked up at the crowd that was gathering on the edge of the ravine. "Get help!" She shrieked. "Get the doctor, get Sensei, get _somebody_!"

Some of them broke out of their frozen shock and began to move. Kim didn't see. She'd already turned her attention back to Ron. "Ron, come on," she said, tugging at him again. "We have to get out of the way. There's nothing we can do to help him – our First Aid training isn't up to this…"

God, this had to be _destroying_ him.

He reached out, to the boy, and she pulled on him harder. "Ron, no! You can't touch him! You'll make it worse." Not that she could _imagine_ worse.

Ron settled back, and she started to slide to her knees beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Then, just as she was settling to the ground, least able to move, he lunged forward, his hands blazing gold.

"Ron - !"

But then his hands touched the boy's chest and she froze as the boy's entire body jumped, as if Ron's hands were defibrillators.

Golden light started to shine from the boy's mouth, growing brighter and brighter by the second. Kim couldn't help but stare – until she realized that the same light was starting to grow in the boy's chest as well. Beams of golden radiance speared out from his wounds, but the light just blazed brighter and brighter inside until Kim swore she could actually _see _his lungs, and she could _definitely_ see the silhouette of his broken ribcage. There was a sucking sound, and the boy moaned and coughed as the ribs moved away from the soft organs that they had punctured and back into their natural places. Then the light flashed out of his chest and shot up his spine, and he slowly straightened into a more natural posture to the accompaniment of a crackle of restructuring bone. The light poured from his eyes as his skull filled out to its original shape, and there were a few final greenstick snaps as his limbs set themselves.

Then the light died, and Ron fell back into her arms, panting and drooping from exertion.

The boy coughed up a gout of blood and began to cry weakly.

Kim numbly set Ron down on the slope and reached out to turn the boy on his side. Of course, you weren't supposed to move anyone in a situation like this, but she was fairly confident that causing spinal damage was no longer an issue, and she didn't want him to drown.

Then she turned back to Ron, who was sitting on the slope and staring at his hands, which were still glowing softly.

"Ron…" She said, struggling to find words. "How…?"

"I dunno KP," he said, still staring at his hands. "I mean, I _didn't_ know…I know _now_…I could do it again, but…" He froze, then looked up, his eyes very wide. "I could do it again…"

Without warning, his hands shot out and caught her face between them. She grabbed his arms and started to pull them away – pure reflex – when she froze.

If Ronshine were a physical sensation, it would feel like this. It was warm and soothing, and yet almost ticklish. It made her want to close her eyes and…and marinate. Yes. That's what it made her want to do, she was so relaxed, so…

"I can do it, KP," Ron said, and the feverish note in his voice brought her eyes open again.

Ron was grinning wildly, but he'd gone pale. As she watched, dark circles formed under his eyes.

"Ron – "

"I can fix it." He was panting now, and his eyes were bloodshot. But he wouldn't let go.

She could see her hands, where they rested on his arms. They weren't changing. Not even a little. It wasn't working.

"Ron – !"

But Ron would drain himself dry before he admitted that.

"I can make it better!" He sobbed, starting to sag. "You don't have to hurt anymore!"

"Ron, _no!_" She yanked his hands away from her face, and he fell forward into her arms.

"I'm sorry, KP," He sobbed. "So sorry. I couldn't do it. I just…" She held him tight as he started to cry in earnest. "Couldn't…do it…"

"Shhh," she whispered, stroking his back. "It's okay. It really is. You tried. You almost _hurt yourself_ with trying…which, never do again. You getting hurt hurts me more than getting hurt myself does."

"But…me too, KP. I just…"

"I know, I know. But maybe…" She hesitated. She knew he wouldn't want to hear this. And she didn't really want to say it. But it had to be done. "Maybe there's just nothing to heal. I'm healthy, just…" She took a deep breath. Had to be done. "…just ugly."

"No!" He shot up straight, breaking out of her hug. "Don't say that. Don't you ever say that again. You _are not_ ugly. Nothing could _make _you ugly. It's just…I know you still hurt, even if you _are_ healthy, and…"

"Oh, Ron," She pulled him back into the hug. "You don't need magic to make that hurt go away."

There was a long moment of silence as they clung to each other, but then came the sound of sandals crunching on the gravel.

"Yamanouchi is once again in your debt, Stoppable-san," Sensei said. "As is a young fool who will have the opportunity to become an old fool because of you."

Silence. He let that sink in.

"What do you believe now, Stoppable-san?"

Ron let go of Kim with one arm (but _not_ the other) and slowly turned to face the old teacher.

"I don't know," he said. "I still don't think I buy all that stuff about gods and tricksters and whatever. All I know…all I _believe_…is that _this_…" He held up his free hand, and a golden spark flashed on the tip of his index finger for a moment. "…_whatever_ it is…is good."

Sensei smiled.

"Then that is enough. As for the rest...if I may resort to a cliché…it matters little if you believe in them. They believe in you."

**Training – Black Belt**

"For most of your life, Stoppable-san, you have used your power unconsciously, believing it to be nothing more than 'dumb skill'. But as the Unshaper approaches, 'dumb skill' is no longer enough – the attack on your school proved that."

"More recently, you have used your passion to focus your power. More potent, perhaps, but still undependable. Your power must learn to answer to your will. That is why we must – "

----

Ron sits on a mat in the lotus position, his eyes closed. He slowly rises up off the ground to a height of about three feet. Suddenly, a group of students rush at him and start making noise: shouting, clapping their hands, stomping their feet, clashing cymbals. Some even shove him. When they do, he floats a few feet in the direction he was pushed, but his eyes don't open.

Then the students fall silent, and the crowd parts to let Kim through. She bends, turns Ron's face up to her, and kisses him. His eyes fly open and he drops to the mat.

At the edge of the mat, Sensei smiles and shakes his head.

----

Kim stands in the midst of a group of students, all of them with their eyes closed. One by one, the other students fade from sight until it looks like Kim is standing alone in the middle of the practice yard.

Finally, she opens her eyes and looks around in frustration. Then her hands shoot out and grab what appears to be empty air on either side of her, and two startled students appear in her hands, their concentration broken.

----

"What you said in the ravine was correct, Stoppable-san – that Possible-san could never be anything but beautiful. Nonetheless, she may have had a point as well: perhaps there is nothing to heal in those who are in good health, regardless of their scars. But perhaps there is another alternative: perhaps what was done with the Unshaper's power cannot be undone by yours – perhaps its malice poisons the wounds still."

----

Ron draws back his fist. It suddenly flares golden and, with a shout, he shatters a slab of rock.

----

Ron floats in mid-air, once again enduring the shouts and shoves of his fellow students. Some even throw things or try to poke him with staves. These he dodges without ever opening his eyes.

Then the crowd parts once again and lets Kim through. She kisses Ron again. This time, he smiles, but his eyes don't open and he doesn't fall.

Nonplussed, she looks at him for a moment, then turns to her fellow students.

"Okay, out. Everybody out."

Confused, they look to Sensei, who, with a mysterious smile, simply waves them toward the door. He follows them out, closing the door behind him.

After a moment's preparation, Kim turns back to her boyfriend.

"Ron."

Ron cautiously opens one eye. Then both fly open and he drops to the mat.

Smiling in satisfaction, Kim pulls her sports bra back into place and closes her _gi_.

----

Ron leans on his rake in his rock garden, staring at the ground. At his feet, the pebbles roll around and arrange themselves.

----

Kim and Ron spar.

Kim demonstrates amazing improvement for so short a time. She's back to her full, pre-blast level of ability, and it's clear that if she hasn't mastered _Tai Xing Pek War_ yet, she will by next Tuesday.

Ron is lit up like a Vegas casino, his hands and eyes blazing. Kim has dealt with that sort of thing before, however, and isn't particularly intimidated.

The match is much more even than their first one. Blocks, dodges, parries and counters go by at a dizzying speed.

It looks like Kim may be winning even despite Ron's enhanced abilities, when he lands a two-fingered strike to her right leg, which goes rigid.

Stunned, Kim makes a limping retreat, trying to defend herself and regain control of the limb, but Ron presses his attack: he paralyzes a blocking arm as well and strikes a spot on Kim's collarbone, at the base of her throat, and her entire body goes rigid.

She starts to tip over backward and Ron's glow immediately flickers out. He catches her and lowers her to the mat, where he touches each of his "pressure points" again, unlocking her limbs.

She starts to swat at him, accusing of "cheating" again – but this time there's a bit more heat to it beneath the joking.

At the edge of the mat, Sensei looks troubled.

----

Kim and Ron lie in bed together. She's on her back with his head resting on her shoulder. She has an arm around him, and he has an arm and a leg tossed carelessly over her.

He sleeps peacefully.

She stares at the ceiling.

----

"I expected that you would wish to speak with me, Possible-san."

"You did?"

"Possible-san…if you should ever choose to gamble, I recommend that you play dice instead of cards."

"That bad at concealing?"

"On the battlefield, you are as capable of hiding your intentions and launching surprise attacks as my best students. Outside of battle? Worse than Stoppable-san in some ways."

_Kim blushes._

"There, you see? But surely that is not what you have come to discuss."

"No! No, of course not! I just…" _Sigh_. "I'm just starting to wonder why I'm here."

"That is a question that we all spend our lives answering, Possible-san."

"Please don't kid with me, Master Sensei. I mean it. It was one thing when Ron could cook like a four-star chef and I caused structural damage with the blender, but now it's just…there's so much! He can heal, he can float, he can disappear – I can't even fade! – and now he can beat me in a fight! That was all I had left!"

"Is it that difficult for you, Possible-san?"

"What?"

"Being a sidekick."

_Long Pause._

_Very quiet. _"Yes."

"Is the acclaim of the crowd that important to you?"

_Another long pause. When Kim speaks again, she's very carefully keeping her voice even. Sensei is testing her, and she refuses to rise to the bait. _ "Master Sensei…I don't know how much you know about my life in Middleton, but most of the stuff I did there wasn't really all that acclaim-heavy. Everybody knew that I was a given if they needed somebody for the prom committee, or to clean the park, or to build a homecoming float, or whatever, so it wasn't any big. Just 'thanks, Kim' and move on, if that. And you know what? I was cool with that. All I really wanted 'acclaim' for was the cheer squad."

"I see. I have done you an injustice, Possible-san, and I apologize."

"No big."

"Thank you. But if I was mistaken before, then I must know: is it the loss of leadership that you fear?"

"Well…yeah…there's that…I hate when Bonnie tries to undermine me as captain, and Will Du definitely…but…" _Shakes head._ "No, that's not it. I think it's more that I'm used to being the one who _does_ things. I'm not used to leaving things to other people. Or worse, not being _able _to do it, and needing someone else to do it _for_ me. But the way Ron is now…what does he need _me_ for? What can _I_ do?"

_Silence._

"Possible-san, very often when someone attempts to thank you for some heroic deed, you say that anyone could have done it. Do you truly believe that?"

_Surprised at this sudden change in direction. _"Well…sure. If they started small, like I did, and got the training and the practice."

"Training? Practice? Possible-san, are you even aware that most people take years to master Tai Xing Pek War to the degree that you have?"

_Kim blinks_. "But…I just picked up a few moves from working out with Yori and Hirotaka."

"Amazing. Just like Stoppable-san, you are unaware of how truly remarkable you are."

_Kim doesn't have an answer for that._

"Have you ever seen a yin/yang symbol, Possible-san?"

"Of course."

"Does it mean anything to you, or is it simply pretty?"

"Well…I have a few ideas, but I'm not sure how right they are."

"As the Taoists would have it, Yin and Yang are the foundations of all that is – the eternal balance, the eternal opposition. Yin is female, coolness, darkness, and passivity. Yang is male, heat, light, and activity." _He grins wryly_. "Interestingly enough, you demonstrate far more yang tendencies than Stoppable-san, despite being female. But then, as the symbol shows, each opposite must contain a little of the other."

"Are you saying that Ron and I have this…balance?"

"I am."

"Then that would mean that, even with all he can do, Ron is only half of the equation."

"Very good, Possible-san. You are his Other, and he is yours. The Scarred Warrior and the Laughing Magician cannot succeed without each other. He is Yin, you are Yang. He is Chaos, you are Order. He is luck, you are skill. He is improvisation, you are strategy. You are violence, he is trickery. You are arrogance, he is foolishness. You are the protector, he is the nurturer. He is magic, and you are…"

_Expectant hush. Kim leans forward eagerly._

_He shrugs. _"…I do not know." _Kim makes a disappointed noise._ "You have power of your own, Possible-san, but you must find the Scarred Warrior, as Stoppable-san has found the Laughing Magician."

"But – "

"I fear that is all I have for you today, Possible-san. It grows late. You should seek out Stoppable-san before you miss supper."

----

Recognizing that she had been dismissed, Possible-san rose, bowed, excused herself politely despite what must have surely been monumental frustration, and let herself out.

Sensei waited until the door closed behind her before he spoke again.

"It was very rude of you to eavesdrop, Stoppable-san."

The blond boy seemed to simply materialize out of the shadows in one corner of the room. Sensei was momentarily disturbed to realize that he was not at all certain that Stoppable-san had _not_ simply materialized out of the shadows.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Stoppable-san said as he stepped out into the light. Oddly, he didn't sound the least bit defensive or abashed at being caught. "I just came in to ask a few questions of my own, and – "

"You snuck in," Sensei interrupted sternly. "Using either our techniques or your new abilities."

"A little of both," Stoppable-san shrugged. "You know how it is: you get a new toy, you can't stop playing with it. Anyway, I couldn't help but overhear you telling Kim that she had to 'find' the Scarred Warrior, just like I 'found' the Laughing Magician."

"And so she must."

"See, something occurred to me when you said that," Stoppable-san said, holding up a finger thoughtfully and taking a few steps closer.

Sensei was suddenly chilled as he finally got a good look at Stoppable-san's face. This was not the Stoppable-san he knew – the friendly, helpful, somewhat silly young man. This was not "Ron-san". This was the Stoppable-san who had destroyed Duff Killigan's home and threatened Monkey Fist with dismemberment; this was the Stoppable-san who had nearly killed the Unshaper's primary vessel with his bare hands.

This was the Laughing Magician, and Sensei had no doubt that the Laughing Magician could break him like a dry twig.

He seemed to have no interest in doing so, however. Instead, he continued to tell what had occurred to him: "I didn't 'find' the Laughing Magician until that accident in the ravine."

"True. That was an important landmark for you."

"Yeah. Awful convenient, that. Can't help but wonder if it wasn't so much of an 'accident' at all."

Suddenly, the chill was gone. "I do not like what you are implying, Stoppable-san."

"What? That the 'Celestial Emperor' was taking too long with the 'sign' and you set up one of your own?"

The tendons in Sensei's arthritic hands creaked audibly as he tightened them into fists that could still crack stone.

"Yamanouchi owes you several debts, Stoppable-san, so I will forgive you your insult. But do not repeat it. Ever. I did not know that healing was among your gifts. If I had, I would have willingly injured _myself _to force you to use it, but never one of my students. Never."

"Would it be the same kind of insult if I asked why you didn't give us any kind of warning last spring if you knew what was coming?" Stoppable-san challenged. "Did you need your 'Scarred Warrior' so bad that you were willing to let us take the fall?"

Sensei sighed and relaxed his fists. He knew where this was coming from now. These questions may have been lingering beneath the surface for some time. Perhaps it was just as well that he had chosen now to play with his new abilities.

"No, Stoppable-san. I was unaware that the Scarred Warrior was Possible-san until she was actually scarred. The prophecy – "

"Fuck your prophecy!" Stoppable-san suddenly screamed, his eyes blazing out their golden light. "Look what it did to Kim! Look what it's doing to her now! I don't want any part of it!"

He started for the door, but what Sensei said next froze him with his hand on the latch:

"The Celestial Emperor is many things, Stoppable-san, and cruel can be one of them. But stupid is not. When He chose the two of you, He knew that Possible-san could never abandon her sacred duty. And He knew that _you_ could never abandon _her_."

Stoppable-san whirled on him, his chest and shoulders heaving like a bull about to charge, but there was no fear on Sensei's face as he slowly, carefully climbed to his feet.

"I have spoken often to you and Possible-san about my philosophies and my studies. Now permit me to tell you what I believe: I believe that you and Possible-san were appointed this task because no one else can do it. What is it that makes you so special? Many things, and I have no way of knowing which is significant. In the end, it matters not at all. You two are our only chance, and I believe – I have _faith_ – that you can succeed, as you have done so many times before. That is what I believe."

Stoppable-san could only stare for a long moment as the rage slowly deflated from him. Then he blinked and shook his head as if awakening from a daydream. The Laughing Magician was gone, and Ron-san had returned.

"Master Sensei, I'm sorry. I just – "

"Chose to 'play' with your new 'toy' at exactly the wrong time, and overheard that Possible-san was upset, which reminded you of how much she has suffered already."

"Well…yeah," Stoppable-san rubbed the back of his neck and looked sheepish.

"You are a barbarian, Stoppable-san," Sensei said indulgently. "One expects a certain amount of disrespect. You simply know no better." There. That was all the revenge he would allow himself.

"Guess I deserved that."

"Perhaps." Then he smiled – a little – to let the young American know that he was kidding. Mostly. "But I forgive you, Stoppable-san." The smile faded from his face. "I was once a soldier, of sorts, and I have seen the suffering of my comrades. I know that such things do not fade quickly." He patted the boy on the back. "You worry for Possible-san, but she is strong. She will endure. And she will find what she needs to find. Now – " This time, the pat was more of a push. "You should go. Right now, she is seeking to find _you_."

Once Stoppable-san had left, Sensei slowly, carefully sat back down on his cushion. He wished that Possible-san's questions could be answered as simply (which was not to say easily) as Stoppable-san's. He sincerely hoped he could think of a way to help her find her gifts. They couldn't count on a second miracle.

**Inspiration**

"Is this get-up really necessary?" Ron asked, adjusting the shoulders of his _kamishimo_. The garment was comfortable enough – no worse than most formalwear, anyway – and Kim had decreed it "spankin'," but he still didn't like it. It was the golden-monkey crest, one at each lapel and one on his back (Ron had tried to tell the obvious joke, but Sensei didn't seem to get it). Why did it always, always, _always_ have to be monkeys?

"No," Hirotaka answered, perfectly at ease in his own dragon-bedecked robe. "But it is appropriate, and the Lotus Blade appreciates such pageantry."

"Right," Ron muttered, adjusting his sleeves one last time. "The sword likes a good show. I'll try to remember that. Ready, buddy?"

Rufus, who was standing on a chair and looking amazingly dignified in his own tiny kimono, nodded. "Uh-huh, uh-huh."

"Then let's do this." He scooped Rufus up, put the naked mole rat on his shoulder (balcony seating as long as he was in this outfit) and followed Hirotaka out the front door of the guest house.

----

"Yori?"

"Yes, Kim-san?"

Kim glanced around herself at what seemed to be the entire student body, faculty, and staff of Yamanouchi. She tried to be surreptitious, but seeing as how everyone else was kneeling in neat rows, perfectly straight and unmoving, she must have been obvious as hell. Oh, what else was new? She turned her attention back to the small building that she now knew to be a shrine (they must have been doing some repairs with that ladder the first day). "What is this about?" She asked.

"Do you recall the parts of Stoppable-san's last visit that he could not tell you about?" Yori replied, still looking straight forward, her posture perfect.

"Of course."

"This is about that. More than that, I cannot tell you either."

Kim resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. "I don't know" would have been better. It had been hard enough forcing herself to respect Ron's promise to Sensei and not interrogate him about the "Top Secret" parts of his last stay at Yamanouchi. She knew the "ninja school" part, she knew that he'd had (and won!) a fight with Monkey Fist, during which he'd rescued Yori. What else could there be?

Well, it looked like she was about to find out. Patience.

Sensei emerged from the shrine, and she had to stop herself from making several impressed noises. This was serious, if his robes were any indication. He looked like a character from a medieval woodcut. She was thinking _daimyo_, but she was prepared to go as high as shogun.

Yeah. This was major.

"For a thousand years," Sensei began, "From the first days when it was used to carve the school from the mountain, the Lotus Blade has been the soul of Yamanouchi."

As always when she heard that story, Kim winced (if only inwardly this time) at the thought of using what had no doubt been a magnificent sword on stone. It had to have been ruined for good on the first chip.

"And for a thousand years, we have guarded it, waiting for the day when the Chosen One would come and wield it for its destined purpose."

Unless there was something she didn't know about this 'Lotus Blade'. Sensei wasn't talking about it like it was Excalibur or Durandal, some long-lost legend of a thing. After all she'd seen…

"Two years ago, the day we have awaited and feared finally came: the Chosen One appeared."

She put it all together the instant before Ron stepped out of the shrine, with Hirotaka following behind him like a Best Man.

Or a second in a duel.

Rufus was riding on Ron's shoulder, but jumped to Sensei's as Ron walked by. This was Ron's moment, and Rufus couldn't share it, as much as they both might wish otherwise.

Ron and Sensei bowed to each other, and then Ron knelt at Sensei's feet, his head bowed.

"Stoppable-san:" Sensei began, clearly speaking words of ancient, solemn ceremony. "The Lotus Blade is a great honor, but a great burden. To accept it is to become the keeper of one of the last remnants of wild magic in the rational world. To accept it is to take up the sword's mission, to protect the world from enemies that can be defeated with no other weapon. You took up the Blade once before, then left it behind. If you take it up this time, there is no leaving it behind – you shall carry it to whatever end, no matter what comes of it."

He paused, letting that sink in. "Now you know these things, and cannot later say that you did not. Now that you know them, do you accept the Blade?"

To anyone else, Ron might have simply looked stoic. But Kim could feel unhappiness coming off of him in palpable waves. Maybe this was how King Arthur felt the moment before he drew the sword from the stone the second time, _knowing_ the crushing responsibility that awaited him, terrified of it, but unable to turn away.

She'd thought that robe was so spankin'. She'd known that Yamanouchi would want to have some sort of ceremony for their hero at some point – people seemed to feel the need to do that.

She hadn't known that it was for _this_.

"I do," Ron said in a quiet voice that only shook a little.

"Then reach out your hand, Stoppable-san, and call the Lotus Blade to you."

Ron raised his right hand, and a katana came spinning out of the doorway of the shrine, its hilt slapping into his grip.

He stood and turned to the audience, raising the sword above his head. There was a moment of hushed, breath-held expectation.

And then the sword turned into a battle-axe.

The crowd leaped to its feet, clapping and cheering wildly, all decorum forgotten.

Kim rose to her feet as well, but she was too stunned to join them.

A war hammer.

So this was how the founder of Yamanouchi had used a sword for masonry work without destroying it.

A nunchaku.

That sword was the soul, the secret of Yamanouchi – and no wonder that they had kept such power hidden.

Kim understood how much of an honor she had been accorded, just being allowed to see this, allowed to know. She was one of them now. Ron's vow of secrecy no longer applied.

A naginata.

But that wasn't what she was worried about right now. She was worried about Ron: he was even unhappier than before. She could feel it. And judging by Rufus's face, so could he.

A glaive.

Well, he wasn't going to stay unhappy, not if she could help it. He wasn't going to face that responsibility alone. If he was going to be King Arthur, then she would be…well, if she had to be _Percival_, she could handle that. Even if all she could do was keep him company, as he always had for her, then that was what she would do. He _would not_ be alone.

Even as the thought entered her mind, she found herself moving – through the crowd, toward the stage.

Behind her, Yori grabbed for her and missed, hissing her name. She didn't stop. She didn't remember deciding to move, and she had no idea why. But she didn't stop. She knew where she was going, and it seemed the right thing to do.

----

Sensei stood back and watched Stoppable-san change the Lotus Blade into a manriki-gusari, and felt…troubled.

This was necessary, and when he'd approached Stoppable-san about it a few days ago, he'd agreed readily. He had accepted his responsibility this time, and Sensei couldn't be more proud. Still, something seemed wrong. What was missing?

He was broken out of his musings by a disturbance in the audience. How there could be a "disturbance" in such a screaming riot was hard to say, but there it was. Someone was making their way through the crowd, and all along their path people were falling silent and staring, scandalized.

The silence spread as Possible-san emerged from the front of the crowd – as well it should. Sensei was scandalized himself. He'd never imagined that Possible-san could be so selfish as to disrupt Stoppable-san's moment.

It appeared that Stoppable-san was surprised, too. "Kim," he asked. "What are you doing?"

"The sword, Ron," She answered in a very distant voice as she approached the steps of the shrine. "It's calling me."

Alarmed, Sensei took a closer look at Possible-san's face, which only caused his alarm to increase. He'd seen people in trances before. What was going on?

"Stoppable-san," he said, his anxiety leaking into his voice for once. "She mustn't touch the Lotus Blade."

"Why?" Stoppable-san asked as Possible-san mounted the steps, her hand reaching. "Will it hurt her?"

"It may," Sensei replied. "But even if it doesn't, she may not be able to – "

Suddenly, Stoppable-san's eyes glazed over and he brought the Blade down and into Possible-san's hand.

" – lift it."

Possible-san took the Blade, turned back to the audience, and raised it over her own head.

Everyone present – except perhaps Stoppable-san – held their breath.

The sword didn't change. In Possible-san's hands, the Blade remained a blade, but it still seemed subtly different somehow. Always before, the Lotus Blade's existence as a sword had seemed secondary to its existence as a mystical artifact. It was a thing of wonder and beauty, the soul of Yamanouchi – and what other form could the soul of a fighting school take?

Now, it was very much a sword. A weapon. Always before, it had been a given that it was unbreakable, and so perfect that – if one of the men of the school had been so blasphemous as to try – it could easily be shaved with. But now, more than ever, it looked very hard, and very sharp.

Possible-san stepped forward and the crowd – now totally silent – scattered before her like geese. That proved to be a wise decision as she strode forth into the practice yard and, once she reached it, began to…dance.

There was no other word for it, in any of the languages that Sensei knew.

Of course, Sensei could see right away that, literally speaking, what Possible-san was doing were the practice routines for the katana that she'd learned in her time at Yamanouchi. But he'd never seen it done with such grace, such…perfection.

The beauty of it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

She flowed from one routine, one posture to the next with a skill and speed that he could barely follow – could barely have _imagined _before today – and she kept getting _faster_.

Soon she was dancing, spinning, and leaping across the practice yard with a perfection that was only enhanced by its utter wildness. The Lotus Blade had become a flowing, liquid shimmer of razor-edged death. There was not a doubt in Sensei's mind that whoever stepped out into that yard would be killed.

And then Stoppable-san stepped out into it.

He'd changed into a simple black _gi _– or perhaps he had "changed" his clothes in a more literal sense; Sensei suspected so because he couldn't recall any black _gis _with golden-monkey crests, but he would never know for sure – and carrying a katana and a wakizashi, the ones that Possible-san preferred to practice with.

When he stepped onto the field, Possible-san froze in mid-routine, and their eyes met.

Then they charged each other.

Sensei started forward reflexively, but felt a sharp tug at his hair. Startled, he turned to see Rufus-san, who was just shaking his head.

There was no clash of steel on the first pass; instead, Possible-san and Stoppable-san simply tossed the weapons they were holding to each other as they passed. When they turned to face each other again, it was Possible-san who held the nonmagical weapons, and Stoppable-san who held the Lotus Blade. Once it was back in his hands, it began to change again at a frantic pace, as if Possible-san's touch had trapped it in a single form, and now Stoppable-san's was causing it to run wild.

Stoppable-san's eyes flared gold. Possible-san just held her defensive position.

Then they charged.

In all of his years as a warrior and a trainer of martial artists, Sensei had never seen anything like what happened next.

Possible-san blocked attacks from the constantly-changing Lotus Blade only to have her counterattack bounce off a shield that hadn't been there before. Stoppable-san leaped over a leg sweep and came down swinging a battle-axe that would have cut Possible-san in two if she hadn't dodged.

This was not a game. This was not a sparring match. If one of them failed to dodge, block, or parry, then that one would be dead before they hit the ground.

Attack, parry, counterattack, dodge, sweep, leap, block all went by with dizzying speed, both of them coming a hair's breadth from passing to their next incarnation but never touched, a beautiful, lethal…

Dance.

Yes. This wasn't a battle, not like any he'd ever seen fought. Something powerful and primal was moving through both of them, and this dance of death was how it expressed itself.

Sensei was reminded of a story from India: a story of a time when the goddess Kali, drunk on demon blood, nearly danced the world to death. The god Shiva had been the only one who could step forth, who could match her dance for dance.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, Sensei's blood ran cold. In most variations of that story, Shiva –

Possible-san dropped to the ground beneath a swing of the Lotus Blade turned into a halberd and swept Stoppable-san's feet out from beneath him, dropping him onto his back.

- Shiva _lost_.

Possible-san threw herself atop Stoppable-san, straddling him, reversed her swords in her hands, raised them high over her head –

Sensei started forward again, ignoring the tugging at his hair this time.

The students, led by Yori, started to rush out onto the field to rescue their hero.

- and drove them into the earth on either side of his head, bracketing it. Then she grabbed the hand that still gripped the Lotus Blade and turned it, pressing the flat into his collarbone, the edge shaving skin from his throat.

Everyone froze. Was this what the Lotus Blade did to the unworthy who touched it? Drive them mad? Force them to destroy what they loved the most?

Then a wild grin split Possible-san's face. She leaned forward, grabbed Stoppable-san by the hair, lifted his head up, and shoved her tongue in his mouth. Then she began to rock her hips, and Sensei suddenly remembered what happened _after _Kali had danced Shiva into the ground.

The same primal force was still moving through both of them. It had just…changed directions.

Possible-san was openly _riding_ Stoppable-san now, still kissing him fiercely and still pressing the Lotus Blade to his throat. The population of Yamanouchi was standing about and staring at them with expressions that, if spoken aloud, would have said "What the _fuck_?"

"Possible-san," Sensei said in a voice that was pitched to carry.

She whipped upright with a feline snarl, staring at him with a green fire in her eyes that he had expected, but knew he couldn't face for more than a few seconds.

"Perhaps you wish to celebrate your victory someplace more private?" He suggested mildly.

She stared at him for a moment, then, in one abrupt, ferocious movement, got to her feet and threw Stoppable-san over her shoulder. She carried him off in the direction of the guest house, with the Lotus Blade still in her hand, her own weapons still buried in the ground.

Yamanouchi could only stare blankly as they watched the pair of Americans go.

"Sensei-sama?" A small, confused voice beside him asked.

"Yes, Yori?

"What just happened here?"

Sensei pretended to think on it for a moment. "It would appear to me that Possible-san and Stoppable-san sparred again. Possible-san won, and she claimed the prize of her choice."

Yori's eyes went very wide, and she turned to stare at her mentor instead of her departing friends.

He smiled at her with affectionate humor. "I am eighty-five years old, Yori-chan. But I was not born that way. Do you really believe that anything new to my experience is happening in that house?"

She shook her head, her shock having deprived her of the power of speech entirely by this point.

Sensei's face turned serious. "Joking aside, I do think that something important may have happened here." He held out his hands, cupping them together. "Rufus-san?"

Then naked mole rat skittered down his arm and into his hands so they could speak face-to-face. "Uh-huh?"

"Could you go with Yori, please? There is someone I need to speak to."

----

_Someone I need to speak to!_

Despite his outward serenity, Sensei's mind was racing as he hurried (as best he could) to Yamanouchi's communications center.

_Someone I need to speak to! Something important may have happened here! What an understatement!_

To the students and his fellow faculty, the disrupted ritual in the practice yard was an extremely odd, rather frightening (and, at the end, somewhat arousing) mystery.

To Sensei, it was as if he had suddenly reached Enlightenment.

How had he been so foolish for so long?

If he gave it even a little bit of thought, it was no surprise that the Lotus Blade was key to unlocking the Scarred Warrior's abilities, as it had been for the Laughing Magician. All three were key to the same prophecy, surely they were connected in other ways.

But that wasn't the substance of his foolishness. No. The substance was in attempting to force Possible-san down the path to power that _he _expected her to follow. Which was the same path as Stoppable-san.

What had he been thinking? Her tools were not the tools of magic! In her hand, the Lotus Blade hadn't changed form, as it did for the Laughing Magician. It had just been very hard…and very sharp.

It was so obvious, really…if the Laughing Magician was (of course) magic, then the Scarred Warrior could only be –

He, and his thoughts, came to an abrupt halt as he entered the empty communications center.

Several large televisions in the center were constantly tuned to news channels from various countries, and one of the American news channels had caught his attention. The blond newscaster who spoke even more oddly than most Americans and who always seemed to be attempting to look at least ten years younger than her true age was speaking:

"Farmers in the midwest report that a bizarre blight has begun to bedevil their barley."

The woman was standing in front of a cornfield.

"On farms across the country, various grain crops are dying, leaving whole fields standing in patches. But that's not the strange part: the strange part is that the dead areas form regular, geometric patterns."

A toothless old man in coveralls and a baseball cap with the word "Skoal" written on it (Sensei would have to look it up later, or perhaps ask Stoppable-san what it meant), clearly chosen for his "country bumpkin" appearance, was the next to show up on the screen.

"I'd'a though it's just punk kids makin' crop circles for sh(beep)s and giggles," he grumbled into the microphone. "Nature don't generally work in no straight lines. But these crops ain't broken nor stomped. They're dead an' rotted. Overnight. Damndest thing I ever saw."

The next shot chilled Sensei's blood. It was apparently taken from a helicopter, circling over the afflicted field (or one of them, at least) so the audience could see the pattern.

Sensei had seen that pattern before. In books of archaeology or religious history.

Rotted into that field of American grain was the name TIAMAT. In Cuneiform.

Sensei hurried to one of the computer stations and logged into the "high priority" e-mail account that he used only for his most important correspondence (immediately recognized as such by those few who ever received it) and began to send the messages he needed to send.

He prayed that he was right about this. They didn't have the time for any more wrong guesses.


	10. Squalls: Running Blind

**Losing the Lookouts**

Steven Quinnburg grinned eagerly as he bent to the eyepiece of his brand new telescope. It had cost him an arm, a leg, several digits off the remaining limbs, and two serious fights with his wife, but it was all going to be worth it. This baby was three steps past state-of-the-art, and the first look through it was going to be…

Impossible.

He'd pointed it toward Saturn, just to see what kind of detail he could get on his favorite planet (shut up, okay? Some people write friggin' novels about their favorite cartoon shows), and he'd expected something impressive. But this? No. He'd bought three steps past state-of-the-art. He hadn't bought the friggin' Hubble.

But there it was, taking up most of his field of vision, like he was lookin' at the friggin' _moon _or somethin', for God's sake, and he could see every band of color in the atmosphere distinctly, no matter how small or faint. He could practically count the ice particles in the rings.

No. Friggin'. Way.

Then something started to come around the curve of the planet. Was it a moon? Maybe. White Spots – storms at least the size of continents – began to form in the atmosphere as it appeared, so those had to be tidal forces of some kind, right? Sure.

Amazing. Watching White Spots form. This had to be one for the history books. Sure it was.

But somehow, Steve Quinnburg wasn't interested in White Spots or history books or magic telescopes. All his attention was focused on whatever it was that was coming around Saturn's curve.

His heart was trip hammering in his chest and his mouth was dry, but it took him a moment to realize that it wasn't excitement at the impossible, historical view. He was terrified.

Why? How could somethin' on the other end of a friggin' _telescope_ hurt him, for God's sake?

He wanted to look away. Shit, he wanted to turn around and _run_. But he just told himself – and then reminded himself, over and over – how friggin' stupid that would be, and forced himself to keep his eye to the eyepiece.

And then whatever-the-hell-it-was broke Saturn's horizon like sunrise seen from the space shuttle, and Steve Quinnburg

Saw.

**Off The Map**

Dr. Colleen Possible let out a breath of relief and relaxed as she entered the examination room.

Dr. Drakken was looking pale today.

In the weeks since she'd first seen him change, the mad scientist had been growing ever more and more erratic. Fortunately, his behavioral changes were accompanied by physical changes: you could tell whether you were dealing with Dr. Drakken or Drew Lipsky at any given moment by checking the shade of blue. _Un_fortunately, the moments of dark blue were becoming more and more common.

It was getting to the point where the scientists of Global Justice were considering fitting him with an energy siphon like they had for the members of the Gomez family. If body color was an indicator of saturation with "Unshaper" energies (and, for the Gomez siblings, it seemed to be), then perhaps they could control his "mood swings". They were holding off on it, though; Drakken wasn't like Team Go, each one a seemingly endless font of never-before-encountered-by-science energy, such that all the scientists had to do was slap an energy siphon on them, turn it all the way up, and change it every other hour. If an energy siphon was put on Drakken that wasn't _perfectly_ calibrated, he would die of exhaustion, starvation, and hypothermia in minutes.

_But it may yet come to that, _Dr. Possible thought as she watched Drakken – Drew – fuss over the patient on the exam table. The other indicator of the mad scientist's state of mind was his treatment of Sheila Gomez, and as the dark blue periods grew more common and that treatment worsened, the science and security personnel of Global Justice were frantically searching for another means of keeping him under control. Hapless as Drakken could be, they'd seen too much of his work in the last few weeks to put their trust in his failsafe-chip if he didn't _want_ to stay any longer.

At the moment, however, Drew was so pale that he might almost look normal under the right light (very low), and he was holding (herself a reassuring shade of brown) Sheila's hand and speaking to her quietly.

Good. Not safe – Dr. Possible had no illusions about that, not with how fast Drew's "mood swings" came and went, but saf_er_. But then, safety was something of a rare commodity these days.

Well. Enough watching in doorways. Time to get to work.

"Good afternoon, doctor," she said briskly as she strode up to the examination table. "Could you please step outside for a little while?"

A bit startled, Drakken glanced at her, paused, then looked back to Sheila.

She answered his question before he could ask it. "It's okay, Drew," she said, squeezing his hand. "Go on."

He nodded, and then – in a move that seemed to surprise them both – he bent and kissed her forehead. Then he straightened, cleared his throat (was he blushing? It was so hard to tell), and let go of her hand.

"All right," he said. "I'll be waiting right outside."

Protective. He was being reassuring and protective to a woman who could snap him in two now that her cuffs were off, and who could reduce the entire base to a slag-sided crater – _without even meaning to _– if they took off the power dampeners and energy siphons.

It would be funny if it wasn't so grotesque. Who and what did he think he was defending her from? The security cameras watching every square inch of the base, the Plans A-through-Z security protocols and the half-dozen guards with their "comet buster" weapons weren't there to restrain Colleen Possible.

The living nuke on the exam table smiled. "Thanks," she said. "Now go _on_."

Reluctantly, with several backward glances, he obeyed.

Once that nonsense was finished, Dr. Possible turned back to Sh…her patient.

"All right then," she said briskly, picking up the handheld probe beside the table. It looked much like an ordinary ultrasound device – in fact, it _was_, with the Drakken-added feature of being able to scan for "Unshaper" interaction with functioning organs. "Please remove your shirt and bra."

Sh…the patient obeyed without protest. Weeks as a prisoner and patient had removed all expectation of privacy. Colleen Possible herself still clung to it as much as she could in a place like this, even if all that meant was that the guards (who were not, after all, nurses or orderlies) were always the same sex as the test su…_patient_.

Her top off, the patient lay back on the exam table, and Dr. Possible applied the lubricant gel to the patient's torso. Then she began to run the probe over the patient's stomach, paying most of her attention to the image appearing on the monitor.

The digestive tract was completely saturated with "Unshaper" energy. Combine that with the fact that all five Gomez siblings were having increasingly fewer and smaller bowel movements, and that added evidence to the hypothesis that –

"Dr. Possible – "

"Please don't talk," she said absently, her eyes still on the image. They'd need to run another endoscope –

"Dr. Possible, please, I'll be quiet in a second, but I need to ask you something."

With a sigh, Colleen turned from the screen. "What's that?" She asked coolly.

"Are my brothers going to…" The patient paused, swallowed hard, and rephrased her question: "What have you discovered?"

"Sorry," Colleen Possible said, shaking her head and turning back toward the monitor, "Can't tell you that. Doctor/patient confidentiality."

"They're my brothers!"

"Your brothers, not your sons." She hit a button and printed out a screen capture from the monitor. "Even if they were, Hector and Miguel are grown men."

"You must be able to tell me _something_."

Dr. Possible just shook her head. "Sorry."

"_Please_," The patient said desperately, almost tearfully, catching at Colleen's arm. "Please tell me what's happening to my family."

That did it. The cool reserve and professionalism that Dr. Colleen Possible had clung to for weeks finally broke. She slammed the probe down, not caring if she broke the delicate medical equipment that this monster's master had built, and whipped around.

"How dare you?" She demanded, so fiercely that the _thing_ on the table recoiled. "How dare you ask me that, after what you've done to _my_ family?"

Her initial startlement past, Shei-_Shego_, she was _Shego_ – relaxed slightly, as if she'd expected this, as if she accepted it.

Somehow, that just made Colleen Possible angrier. That…_show_ of remorse…was just that. A show. What else could it be?

"My daughter," she went on in a voice as hard and sharp as a scalpel, "Would have spent her life as a quadriplegic if your boyfriend hadn't had an attack of conscience. As it is, she's scarred for life and she's had her senior year of High School taken away from her. My sons have nightmares where they wake up screaming or crying because this time, they _did_ lose their sister. My husband has aged twenty years since last June, all because you got mad at losing a food fight to Ronald Stoppable."

Dr. Colleen Possible leaned in very close to her _test subject's_ face, so close that it looked like she wanted to kiss the…creature…herself. Or bite her.

"So you listen to me, and you listen very carefully," she whispered. "They leave you essentially alone with me…and scalpels…and syringes…and substances that could kill ten of you even the way you are now. None of these guards would realize that I was injecting you with one of those substances until you were most of the way to dead – and they might not care. Believe me when I say that the only thing that's kept you alive this long is the Hippocratic Oath. Think about that the next time you perform for the security cameras by pretending that you actually care about something other than yourself, or try one of those 'reduce-my-sentence' apologies on me."

She started to turn away, to check and see if the probe was still in one piece, when the pa-the test-Shei-_Shego_ grabbed her again. She whipped around again, but this time she couldn't break free. Shego held her arm in a grip of iron.

The guards started forward, raising their guns, but Colleen held up a hand to stop them. Despite her words, she wasn't particularly eager to see a patient in her care die, not even one she hated so much.

She looked down into those night-colored eyes, as fierce and determined as they'd ever been when they were green. "I _don't_ believe you," Sheila – Shego, _Shego!_ – whispered back. "You would _never_ abandon your family, and if you killed a semi-helpless patient, you'd be leaving them for a long time." Colleen clenched her hands and gritted her teeth, but said nothing. The bitch was right…and she wasn't stopping: "And I'm not stupid enough to think for a second that an apology is going to do jack nor shit for my sentence. I'm a walking plasma cannon. They might've locked me up even if I never did anything wrong. I apologize because you deserve to hear 'I'm sorry', whether you believe me or not. Now. Here's something I want _you_ to think about:"

She let Colleen Possible's arm go, but the older woman didn't move.

"Drew is _dying_. Because he loved me. Maybe I shattered when…whatever it was…happened to us, but _he_ started _rotting_. Imagine _your_ sweet, gentle, bumbling geek turning into a monster in front of your eyes, and there's nothing you can do about it, and it's _all your fault_. Now, please…please, please, _please_…I need to know: is that happening to my brothers, too?"

Colleen Possible stood there for a long moment, staring at the younger woman and wrestling with herself.

When the moment was over, she still wasn't sure who had won.

"Yes," she answered in a flat, quiet voice.

Shego –

The test –

The pa –

Sheila.

Flinched.

Dr. Possible pressed on: "We don't know how any of you have survived such radical physical modification. You and Hector are barely human anymore: his muscles and bones have been completely restructured to survive the loads he puts on it, and so has your nervous system, and you two are still the closest to 'normal' that your family has left. Miguel is giving the physicists _fits_: when he grows or shrinks, his _mass_ changes, not just his volume. We have a few guesses how he can do that, but all of them should kill him. And we don't even have _that_ for Jesus and Jaime. They apparently create their 'clones' out of dust and ambient gases and control them with a hive-mind, but we have no idea how. Whatever energy source you five are connected to, it's changed you. And it still is."

Sheila Gomez swallowed hard and nodded. "Thank you, doctor," she said in a voice that was perfectly steady, for all that it was very quiet. Then she turned her face back to the ceiling, probably hoping that Dr. Possible wouldn't notice the glisten in her eyes.

But she did, and as Colleen Possible saw the younger woman blink back her tears, she still didn't know which part of her had won. She'd never lied to a patient or a family member in her entire career, but it was clear that telling the truth to Sheila Gomez had been the cruelest thing she could have done.

After a long moment's silence, she turned, picked up the probe, and began to check it for damage.

"I believe you," she said.

"What?"

Not broken after all. She turned back to her patient and resumed the examination.

"I believe you. I believe that you're not exactly Shego. I believe that you actually care about Drew and your brothers. I even believe that you're sorry." She paused, adjusted the monitor, applied more gel, and resumed the examination. "But I'm sorry, too, Sheila. I'll forgive you when my daughter isn't scarred anymore."

**Losing Navigation**

Elsewhere in the vast hive that was the Global Justice complex, three nervous scientists followed agent Will Du through the hallways. Dr. James Possible had seen it all before, or something very much like it, but Chen and Ramesh couldn't stop gawking at everything.

"We knew from what you told us that this was all very hush-hush," Ramesh said, staring at a piece of technology that could have been a cannon or a camera for all he knew (actually, it was a genetic analyzer, but seeing as how it had been designed by Drakken, it just _had_ to look like a weapon). "But we expected nothing like this!"

"Is this Area 51?" Chen asked.

"No, sir," Du answered. "That's in Nevada, and it's run by an entirely different service branch."

"I suppose that if you tell us any more, you'll have to kill us," Chen joked uneasily.

"Not at all, sir. I could tell you anything you want to know. We'd just have to mind-wipe you before you leave."

Chen chuckled nervously, Ramesh a bit more heartily, until they both saw that neither Agent Du nor James Possible were smiling.

Ramesh and Chen didn't ask any more questions.

The rest of the walk was made in uncomfortable silence, and it was something of a relief when Du stopped in front of a door – identical to all of the others lining the hallway – and typed a combination into a keypad beside it.

"So finally we meet the person in charge of all this hush-hush," Ramesh said.

Possible sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I just wish that we had more to – "

He followed Will Du into the room and then froze.

" – report," He finished in a tiny voice.

Dr. Director was at the table, but she wasn't sitting at the head of it as he'd expected. The man who _was_ sitting at the head of the table was familiar to all three of them in a 'celebrity face' kind of way, though only James Possible had met him in person.

The previous summer, at a ceremony in front of Middleton High School, when he'd accepted the Presidential Medal of Freedom on Kim's behalf.

"Gentlemen," the man at the head of the table greeted them. "Please sit down. We have a lot of ground to cover."

----

If Ramesh and Chen had been nervous before, they were terrified now. Not that anyone in the room was looking particularly hostile – though the Secret Service agents didn't look especially friendly, either – but both of them were (not to put too fine a point on it) geeks. They worked in quiet labs with computers and telescopes, they wrote journal articles, and they occasionally went to conventions where they met large crowds of other geeks. The unannounced appearance of the most powerful man in the world – not to mention all of the stern-faced people with guns – was a trifle overwhelming. James Possible was a bit more composed, but only because his daughter's activities had brought him into similarly unexpected situations before.

"Should we salute?" Ramesh whispered.

His two companions shook their heads as they did the only thing they could do: exactly what they'd been told.

Once they had, the man at the head of the table clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward. "Now, gentleman," he said with no further preamble. "It seems that what you've been working on for the past few weeks has come to a head."

Ramesh and Chen looked at each other blankly as James Possible went pale.

"It has?" Chen asked.

The President nodded. "This morning, hundreds of professional and amateur astronomers worldwide were found at their telescopes, dead of heart attacks and strokes. What's worse, something fried every internal circuit on the Hubble. We can't keep this a secret anymore."

Now it was Ramesh and Chen's turn to go pale, while James Possible stared at Dr. Director and started to turn brick red.

"Was that the reason for your safety precaution of not looking at the anomaly directly?" Ramesh asked.

"I don't know," Possible said in a tight voice, more to Dr. Director than his friend. "Was it? I was just told that it was an important safety tip."

"And so it was," Dr. Director answered. "I'm glad that you followed it."

James Possible's jaw tightened. In any other company, he would have jumped up and started shouting at that point. He considered it anyway, but one of the people present demanded a certain decorum, and the rest…well, he didn't think that startling them was a good idea.

"We needed your reconnaissance, Dr. Possible," She continued, with perhaps a slight hint of apology in her voice. "And we gave you instructions how to go about it safely. Would knowing the specific consequences of failure to observe them have made much difference?"

Dr. Possible took a deep breath and relaxed. Slightly. "I suppose not," He answered.

"Speak for yourself," Chen muttered.

"Yes, but the time for reconnaissance is past," The President said impatiently. "Now is the time for action. Now we need the information that you've been gathering for these past few weeks."

The rocket scientist and the astronomers looked at each other helplessly. "We, uh…wish we had more for you, sir," Dr. Possible said.

"But all that we know for sure is that the anomaly was out beyond Neptune when first we spotted it, and now it is passing Saturn," Ramesh finished.

The President frowned. "Isn't that enough to calculate how fast it's moving, and tell us when it's going to get _here_?"

"Usually, yes, sir, you would be correct," Ramesh agreed.

"But in this case, something weird is going on," Chen added. "As far as we can tell – and believe me, we checked and checked again because it just didn't seem possible – it's varying speed."

"Varying speed?" Dr. Director asked, her eyes locking with James Possible's. _Both _of them had gone white this time, and her commanding presence dissolved as completely as his anger. They were suddenly too frightened to maintain either.

The question had been largely rhetorical, but Dr. Ramesh didn't notice: "Slowing down, speeding up, sometimes stopping entirely," He elaborated. "We do not know what sort of celestial object could do such a thing."

"It's one that's headed right for us, that's what kind," the man at the head of the table said. "And the only real question you need to answer is if we can stop it."

The three scientists all looked at each other again. Dr. Chen was the one who finally broke the silence.

"Well, I – "

"Mr. Possible," The President interrupted. "That Annihilator device that your buddy Drakken invented. Could it do the job?"

James Possible decided against correcting the title or pointing out that he and Drakken hadn't been "buddies" for years. The former might have been a mistake. Might have. The latter was not. It was a threat.

"I…don't know, Mr. President. Offhand, I would guess that the Sonic Annihilator would need an atmosphere to function."

"I'm sure we could modify it. Turn it into a missile or something – or maybe just land it on the asteroid and let the prongs contact the surface."

"Asteroid?" Dr. Chen said, confused.

"Who was ever saying that it was an asteroid?" Dr. Ramesh asked.

"Well, what is it, then?" Came the frustrated response.

Dr. Chen shrugged. "We don't know. The spectrographic profile kept changing."

That answer was met with a confused, annoyed scowl.

"They can't be sure of its composition," Dr. Possible explained quickly. "They can't even be sure of its size – although they've got a few estimates."

"Composition?" Ramesh scoffed. "We cannot even be sure it is solid. But there is one thing of which we _are_ sure."

"If it _is_ solid…well, when a solid object is that big, you call it a moon." Chen finished.

The scowl just deepened. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

"We do not know what is up there," Ramesh protested. "How can we suggest a course of action?"

"Then absent evidence to the contrary, I'm going to stick to the original theory."

"But – "

"Mr. Possible," The President's attention focused on the man he was addressing, the conversation with the other two scientists clearly finished. "You invented an experimental space plane on government time and with government funding, but without government authorization – "

"Which is, naturally, government property," Dr. Possible finished. "For you to use when and how you see fit. Of course. There's no need to threaten me."

"Just wanted to make sure that we all know where we stand. With your space plane, we can meet that asteroid out near Mars and hit it with your buddy's Annihilator before it ever becomes a threat. Does it come with a way to broadcast to Earth?"

"Broadcast?" Chen asked uncertainly. "Well, there's the tachyon transmitter, that'll let us communicate at that distance in a believable – "

"Good. Now – "

"Mr. President," James Possible interrupted. "I'm not sure you're understanding what we've said. We don't know what that anomaly is, so we don't know how to stop it, or what will happen if you send people – "

"No, I think _you're_ the one who doesn't understand, Mr. Possible." Was the retort. "It's _costing_ me to disappear like this, especially right now. This evening, instead of talking about dead astronomers, the media is going to be asking if I'm on vacation again instead of dealing with New Orleans. But we're facing a disaster that makes Katrina look like a light spring shower, and I _won't_ be too late again. I'm sorry, Mr. Possible, but the world can't wait for your daughter to be ready for her photo-op this time."


	11. Interlude: Boarding Up Windows

**For best effect, please read MrDrP's marvelous story "Kim Possible: 1776" before proceeding. **

Two pairs of eyes snapped open at the same instant in the dark, one pair brown, one pair green. Two bodies rolled toward each other until eyes met.

"Pim?"

"Lon?"

Those were the last words out of their mouths for some time. Whatever they were feeling, it was too big for words. Instead, they grabbed hold and clung to each other like they'd been separated for years instead of sleeping at each other's side. They nuzzled and made whimpering noises like animals separated from their mates, desperate to get the familiar smell back in their noses.

Finally, after long moments of clutching to each other so tight it was like they were trying to mold themselves into a single being, they regained their voices:

"Never leave me," she pleaded. "Never again."

"I never shall," he swore. "We were cheated of our chance before, but now we have another, and we _shall not_ let it go. Not ever."

She made another animal noise, but this one was of purest joy as she burrowed into his chest. For once, he was the one to wrap his sheltering arms around her.

After another long moment, a timeless pause of warmth in the dark, she broke the silence again: "I knew you would come back to me," she murmured. "Though Hell barred the way."

"Not Hell," he said, stroking her hair. "I never faced Hell, Pim. You did. Can you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive," she said, stroking his chest. "I know how hard you tried to – "

"Not for that," he interrupted. "For…"

"Your wife?" She smiled up at him, and reached up to stroke his hair. "Oh, Lon, I was _happy_ that you had someone to take care of you."

"And nothing grieved me more than the fact that you had none."

Her smile faded for a moment, then returned as a brave grin. "Well, no matter. 'Tis over, and…you're…here…now…" Kim blinked, looked around the dark room, and then looked up at her lover in confusion. "What just happened?" She asked.

Ron shook his head, and, instead of answering, said: "Man, that one was almost worse than the ones about getting burned alive."

"Skip the 'almost', and you've got it," Kim shuddered.

"Ooh, yeah," Ron winced. "You did have it a bit worse than me this time."

"Just a little." She burrowed back into him, and they didn't speak again for another little while.

Ron wanted to just relax and enjoy the moment, maybe fall back asleep, maybe pursue some more athletic bed-related activity. It was what they usually did. But this time, he couldn't…quite…

"Are you mad at me?" He blurted.

She stopped burrowing and looked at him quizzically.

He tried to explain his blurt, but he ended up stumbling all over himself, and by the end he was hyperventilating and wailing: " 'Cause I would really hate…y'know…she's not even real!"

After thirteen years of this sort of thing, Kim understood perfectly. "You mean…what was her name?"

"Penelope," Ron answered absently. Then he blinked. "Wait a second, how – "

Kim just nodded. "Yeah. Her." She dropped her eyes and sighed. "You know, I want to say that even I'm not crazy enough to jeal over a dream. But I guess I probably was."

"Was?"

She shook her head decisively. "Not anymore. I meant what I said before: I'm _happy_ that you had someone to take care of you. If I can't be with you, I don't want you to be alone." She paused, thinking about what she'd just said. "Which may or may not help me stop jealing against actual real, physically-present people."

"Hoping," Ron said, settling back onto the bed and smirking at the ceiling. "Not holding my breath, but hoping."

Kim swatted him lightly, but then her face turned serious. "There _is _one thing that's still bothering me, actually."

Concerned, Ron leaned back up on his elbow. "What's that?" He asked.

"I was _married_ to that toad." She shuddered again and made a face. "Beyond gorchy. Beyond even wrongsick. It's almost enough to put me off sex altogether."

Ron's only response to that was a whimper.

"I said almost," she scolded. Then her grin returned, and her voice turned sultry. "With that at stake, I think it's really important that I…" She swung a leg over him and climbed into a straddling position. "Get back on the horse."

He returned her grin. "Horse? You flatter me."

"Are you complaining?" She asked as she leaned in for a kiss.

"Absitively nnnnmmph…"

And that, of course, was when the school's wake-up bell began to toll.

Ron sighed. Kim groaned. But they got up. The Yamanouchi equivalent of a snooze alarm was a bucket of water straight from the glacier. Both of them had been able to avoid it so far, even in their nightmare-haunted first days, and they didn't want to press their luck.

They _especially _didn't want someone to have to come in with their wake-up call if they _weren't _sleeping. The population of Yamanouchi had seen more than anybody involved wanted them to see during the Lotus Blade incident.

**The Tools of…**

"For the last time, Ron, we are _not_ going to beat up Josh when we get back to Middleton. He didn't do anything."

"I know, but _somebody _needs to get a beat-down for…"

"Look, I didn't jeal over your dream-wife, you don't start a vendetta over my dream-husband."

She hissed through her teeth when she finished speaking and paused to press a hand to her abdomen, before she limped on.

"You okay?"

"I will be," she answered, wincing. "You know how it is when we get interrupted."

" 'Course I do," He said. "I just never knew that girls could get blue – "

Kim slapped her hand over his mouth. It was a gesture that years of practice had turned into a reflex.

Not that she was offended by what he'd been about to say. It was just that she didn't want the entire population of Yamanouchi – which was standing in the central courtyard, apparently waiting for them instead of starting the morning exercises – to hear it.

They both had just enough time to wonder what kind of trouble they were in – but not to ask each other – when Sensei approached them, grinning broadly. Yori was at his side, carrying what looked like a box from a clothing store.

Kim whipped her hand away from Ron's mouth.

"Ah, Possible-san! Stoppable-san!" Sensei greeted them. "Good morning!"

"Did we do something?" Ron blurted. He was doing a lot of that this morning.

"Not at all. It is just that Possible-san has received a…how do you say…care package?…from home."

Yori held out the box, and Kim took it and opened it, then looked back and forth between Sensei and its contents in confusion.

"My battlesuit?" She asked.

"Not exactly," he replied. "Please go change into it. When you return, all will be made clear."

----

"You were right," Kim said as she returned, running her hands over her arms. "This isn't my battlesuit. It looks the same, but it feels all different."

"I believe that you would call it an 'upgrade', Possible-san. But I will leave it to someone more qualified to explain it."

"Who's – "

_Beep beep be-deep_

Instinctively, Kim reached for her hip pocket. Finding none, she frantically searched her pocketless battlesuit for the Kimmunicator that she _knew_ had to be there –

_Beep beep be-deep_

Her glove?

She raised her hand and stared in disbelief at her palm, where the material somehow formed itself into a Kimmunicator screen, complete with a grinning Wade.

"Hey, Kim."

"Wade! What's the sitch?"

"How do you like your new outfit, Kim?"

"It's spankin', Wade, but I'm sure I don't know just _how_ spankin' if this is what you've been working on for a month. Why don't you – "

Wade's usual confident grin was replaced by a sheepish one.

" – tell me what you _have_ been doing for the past month," Kim finished sternly.

"Well, Mr. Sensei only called me about the suit a week ago – "

"That's not what I asked, Wade. That still leaves three weeks unaccounted for."

"I earned another doctorate," He offered. "Astrophysics."

She gave him another suspicious look, then started to relax. "So you've been keeping your promise?" She asked. "No IRS audits?"

"Not a one."

"No damage to his credit rating?"

"None."

"No nasty surprises of any kind on his computer?"

Wade's face suddenly turned sheepish again.

"Wade, what did you do?"

"Look, I know that you just want to get back into Middleton High, but I just had to get one back for you."

"Wade…"

"Guatemalan horse porn on his home computer," Wade confessed.

Ron dissolved into helpless gales of laughter.

Kim sighed and raised her eyes to Heaven in the world's oldest gesture for 'why me?'

"He won't get in trouble," Wade said. "It's just – "

"Just tell me about the suit, okay Wade? Please and thank you."

"Right." Wade typed at another of his computers for a moment, then turned back to her. "First thing you should know is that it wasn't just me who worked on this. We brought in the absolute best: Justine Flanner, your father and brothers – and, you know, of course, me."

Kim hesitated. "The tweebs worked on this?"

"Your father, too."

"Yeah, I got that, but…the _tweebs_…" She started to look down at the armor with actual fear in her eyes.

"Just the weapons systems," Wade assured her. "And the rest of us made sure that everything had been properly tested. It wasn't that hard," he added soberly. "They were absolutely determined that nothing of theirs was going to fail or endanger you in any way."

"Oh," Kim said, a little shamefaced. Then her brows knit in confusion again. "And my dad? I thought he was working on something for GJ."

"He got taken off that assignment," Wade said. "I'll explain later."

"Right," Kim agreed, shaking off her own question. "We're talking about the armor now."

"Yes, we are. Now, as you can see," Wade waved at the screen. "This battlesuit is a lot more malleable than the old one. That's thanks to your dad and the Hephaestus Project. Not only can it repair itself a lot quicker, but you can form just about whatever you need out of it: parachutes, lock picks, your grappling hook – whatever. Even better, all you have to do is say 'store', and collapses into a bracelet. We got that idea from the Centurion Project."

"Spankin'," Kim said wryly. "I'll try that sometime when it wouldn't leave me standing in front of two hundred people in my underwear. Are there any other words I should know?"

"Quite a few," Wade replied. "Until we can work out some programming upgrades, a lot of the systems are voice-activated. Say 'shield'."

"Shield."

A circle of blue energy appeared on her left arm.

"Good. Now say 'shell'."

"Shell."

The blue shield suddenly became a blue dome, much like the force-field from her old battle suit.

"Now say – "

"Wade, isn't this going to run out the batteries?"

Wade grinned. He'd been waiting for her to ask that. "No," He answered. "That's why needed a physicist of Justine's level on this. The batteries won't run out because the suit is constantly absorbing energy from the environment. Whatever kind of energy you encounter: solar, electric…and kinetic."

"Kinetic?" Even if Kim hadn't understood the implications of that, she would have caught Wade's meaning. But she _did_ understand, and she was amazed.

"Kinetic," Wade confirmed. "You walk, you charge the suit. You run, you charge the suit." Then he beamed. "Someone hits you…they charge the suit. The energy that should be breaking bones or causing bruises just gets absorbed. Between that and the actual armor, you can survive pretty much anything that a tank could." The smile vanished from his face for a moment. "Which means you still shouldn't stand still for any direct hits from Hego or Shego."

Kim blinked and stared at him, wide-eyed. He just looked back, his face grim.

"Noted," she said.

"Good." Then his face brightened again. "So now that you know that the batteries aren't going to run out…"

She smiled at him indulgently. "What new toy have you just been dying for me to try out?"

"Hold out your left hand in a fist, and say: 'Energy blade, stun'."

She did so, and a beam of energy like a blue lightsaber appeared out of her hand. There were gasps of awe and amazement…but there were also a few giggles.

"What?" Kim demanded, turning to Yori (who was trying to hide a grin of her own). "What's so funny?"

"I am very much afraid that you sound like an anime character, Possible-san."

Kim sighed. "I was afraid of that."

"Don't worry," Wade assured her quickly, perhaps a little embarrassed himself. "Those programming upgrades I promised will be on the way soon."

"Don't worry about it too much, Wade. If I have to shout 'Moon Princess Elimination' to bring this thing down – " Ron ducked and covered. "I…will…"

Everyone stared at him. Wade formed a screen on Kim's belly for the specific purpose of staring at him.

"Not cool, KP!" Ron shouted, still covering his head. "You didn't know it wasn't loaded!"

"Ron, Kim's battlesuit doesn't have a 'Moon Princess Elimination' command."

"But I didn't know that," Kim said. "He's right. That was ferociously careless of me." She reached down and helped Ron to his feet. "I'm sorry."

"Ah, s'okay," Ron said, blithely waving away potential vaporization. "One good Moon Princess Elimination would totally drain this thing's batteries, so – " He noticed that everyone in earshot – except Kim, Rufus, and Sensei – was staring at him again. "What?"

"I hope you both know that I have no idea what you're talking about."

Kim looked down. "I'm seventeen, and you're making me feel old, Wade. That is both sick and wrong." She tapped the screen on her belly. "Now stop that."

"Right," Wade said, closing the screen on her belly while simultaneously opening one on the back of her hand. "Sorry about that. Anyway, it's not just a question of your dignity. It kinda defeats the purpose if you have to shout 'stealth mode'."

"True."

"But for now, I think it is time to begin training with what we have," Sensei announced, drawing his students' attention back to himself. "There will be a very important announcement made on the television in a few hours, and I would like for you to have at least a bit of practice before we sit down to watch it."

**The Very Important Announcement**

"My fellow Americans. People of the world. I bring grave news."


	12. Leading Edge

"My fellow Americans. People of the world. I bring grave news."

"Just under a month ago, an object was spotted in the far reaches of our solar system. This object is the size of a small moon, and it is moving toward us at such great speed that it is already approaching Jupiter."

"There will be no hiding in bunkers, no retreating into hidden bases in hollow mountains. To put it bluntly, there would be no point. If this object reaches us, nothing on this planet will survive. The planet itself may not."

"But it will not reach us."

"In one hour, six brave astronauts will launch from Cape Canaveral in The Republic, an experimental space-plane that will allow them to travel further and faster than any human being ever has. They will meet this threat out beyond Mars, at the border of the asteroid belt, where they will destroy it with a top-secret weapon developed by a team of America's most brilliant scientists."

"I ask everyone to please remain calm; everything that can be done is being done, and we can only harm ourselves with panic."

"I also ask everyone to now join me in sending our hopes and our prayers with the courageous men and women who are going forth to fight this fight for us. For the first time in our history, mankind faces a single, common threat. Let us stand together to face it with faith and courage."

**Remaining Calm**

For perhaps the first time since its name was changed from Longacre Square in 1904, Times Square was silent.

There were several billboard-sized television screens at several different points on the Square, but one didn't stop to actually watch them. Even the tourists who didn't care if anyone knew they were tourists didn't do that. For one thing, who wanted to take the time to read subtitles on the news when you were in _Times Square_, for crying out loud? For another, it was a good way to stop traffic entirely on the crowded sidewalks.

But it was happening. Thousands of people stood silent in the middle of the neon-splashed Square, staring at the screens and reading the subtitles as the President of the United States told them that the world was coming to an end.

Traffic stopped as drivers climbed out of their cars to watch. Waiters came out of restaurants. Shopkeepers changed the channels on the TVs in their windows and then came out into the Square anyway.

The President's face was replaced by a news anchor who reported that price freezes had been put in place – a gallon of milk or a gallon of gas would cost the same tomorrow as it had yesterday – and that the National Guard was being sent to keep order in certain large cities.

Through it all, the silence held. The silence of shock that waited for someone _else_ to break it, someone _else _to somehow find words and say _something_ about the enormity that had just been revealed to them.

Finally, someone did:

"_Harlot!_"

A pretty NYU student named Alicia Randall turned toward the source of the shout. It wasn't directed toward her (it couldn't be, she was dressed perfectly appropriately for the mild October day), but she wanted to see what was happening. Why had that person (the shout had actually been more of a shriek, high and sexless and furious) chosen to shout that particular word at this particular time? What had happened, what had the shouter seen that had created that particular reaction? She, like most of the people around her, turned in dull, stunned curiosity, wondering if someone had perhaps made sense of what was happening.

The Shouter was a man, perhaps thirty-five years old, tall and thin and bespectacled. His face was livid, bone-white except for spots of high color on his cheeks, and his eyes were wild.

"Harlot!" He shrieked again, jabbing a finger toward her like a bayonet. "Would you lead men astray on the very Day of Judgment?"

Alicia just continued to stare at him blankly. Instead of being an answer to what was happening, the Shouter's words were just another part of the mystery. Some sort of arcane code that, if broken, might prove the key to understanding.

His next action was even more mysterious. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small object, did something to it, and then charged her.

Fortunately for Alicia, her instincts and reflexes were still awake, even as her conscious mind continued to move through a universe of shock-still silence. The Shouter's pocketknife barely qualified as a weapon – it was better suited for cutting twine than causing damage – but it was sharp, and it was plunging for her face when her arms moved of their own volition to block it with her backpack.

The silence shattered. Alicia Randall stumbled back through the crowd, screaming for help, shoving and knocking bystanders out of the way as the Shouter slashed her backpack into strips with his small-but-sharp blade. He was screaming too – accusations and incoherent rage.

The people around them joined in the hue and cry, some trying to get out of the way while others pressed in closer, trying to see what was happening.

For a moment, though, it almost looked like order might be restored:

Manuel Ortiz was a foreman for the construction company that was putting up a Hard Rock Café on the corner of Broadway and 43rd Street. Alicia was the same age as his eldest daughter (the first in his family to go to college, and he was so proud of her, his heart nearly burst), and he grabbed the Shouter's weapon-arm and put a lock on his wrist.

Ahmad Tahir was a first-year associate in the Real Estate Department at the law office of Stroock & Stroock & Lavan, and Alicia reminded him of his little sister, back in Pakistan. He grabbed the Shouter's other arm and put him in a headlock.

The police, jolted out of their own shock, began to push their way through the crowd to take charge of the struggling Shouter.

Unfortunately, the Shouter wasn't some random New York City street preacher. His name was Nathaniel Foster, and he was visiting from Alabama – come to sing some Gospel and do some Witnessing in the city of sin…along with the other two dozen people in his Church group.

These were people who'd come to New York City to sing and bring Good News. Most of them had given away half of their own meal-budgets to homeless people already. Violence was neither nature nor habit to them. But all they saw was their group-leader (usually the kindliest and most gentlemanly of men) being set upon by a gang of New York City thugs, and they couldn't stand idly by.

The brawl crashed into the surrounding crowd, and the stampede began in earnest, especially when Foster's knife-hand got free and opened Ortiz's arm, spraying blood onto the bystanders.

Even then, the situation might not have been irretrievable. Nearly a dozen police – two of them on horses – were making their way through the crowd, with more pouring out of the Times Square NYPD station.

But that was when every light in Times Square went out.

----

Forty-three people lost their lives in the Times Square riot, including Nathaniel Foster and Ahmad Tahir. Scores were injured.

It wouldn't be the last bit of mass hysteria to plague the world in the following week. And each time, circumstances seemed to conspire to turn already bad situations into catastrophes worse than anyone could have imagined possible. People weren't just pushed over the side of the bridge overcrowded with religious pilgrims, the bridge itself collapsed. The bus didn't just crash into the crowd, it burst into flames. Fatal riots began when grocery stores ran out of bread for the long lines of customers to hoard.

There was also a rash of "isolated mental aberrations" that were eventually ruled to be part of the mass hysteria, though they usually involved individuals, or small groups at most:

----

A brothel-keeper in Bangkok repented of his sins, and decided to burn down his place of business. Unfortunately, he happened to do so while his clients and his "merchandise" (some as young as 11) were still inside.

----

A woman in North Dakota shot her husband dead and wounded her teenage son when she forgot the last 25 years of her life and mistook them for intruders.

----

An art student in Paris painted a scene that sent his classmates fleeing from the room. Most would later report recurring nightmares, though none could describe the painting after the fact. Interestingly, the _Surete _who investigated reported similar nightmares, although they never saw the painting – the room was empty when they went in, and no one saw either the student or the painting ever again.

**Mission Accomplished**

"Ladies and Gentlemen. We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an important message. The Republic has reached the intercept point at the asteroid belt, and the unknown object is approaching their position. We now take you live to the Republic itself as they complete their mission for all of our sakes."

----

_Television screen goes dark for a moment._

----

_Camera clicks on, and the screen is practically filled by the face of a man in his late thirties or early forties with a flattop haircut. He backs away from the camera, revealing the inside of Mr. Dr. P's space plane. He and the other five people – three men and two women – are dressed in flight suits. The picture is a bit fuzzy, but considering that it's coming from beyond Mars, it's nothing short of miraculous. _

_Man:_ Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm captain Brian Hiller, and I'm afraid that this is the last chance I'm going to have to speak with you before the job is done. Don't worry, it won't take long." _He starts to turn away, then pauses. His bravado slips to reveal grim determination beneath. _"This thing isn't going to get any closer."

_He turns and joins the rest of the crew, who are all seated at various instrument panels._

_Hiller: _Alright, people, this is it.

_Another Crewmember (male voice):_ Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more.

_Hiller:_ Thank you for the Shakespeare, Olsen, but we don't want to go into this particular breach more than once.

_Olsen: _Yes, sir.

_Another Crewmember (female voice): _It's starting to emerge from the Belt now, sir. Should we wait for visual?

_Hiller: _We don't _want_ visual. In fact, now's a good time to close the power windows.

_Same Crewmember: _Yes, sir.

_Plates of metal slide into place over the front windows._

_Same Crewmember: _Radiation shields in place, sir.

_Hiller: _Thank you, Lieutenant Akana. Bring up the viewscreen.

_Akana: _Yes, sir.

_A large screen slides down from the ceiling, covering the blocked front window. It turns on, revealing a starscape identical to the one that had been showing through the open window. CGI asteroids fill the screen, and something huge, dark, and crudely-animated approaches from behind them. Statistics for the various objects scroll down both sides of the screen._

_As we watch, some of the CGI asteroids disappear into the dark object._

_Olsen: _Holy shit.

_Hiller: _What is it, Olsen?

_Olsen: _That thing is bigger than Ceres. It's so massive that it's pulling other asteroids in.

_One of the scrolling statistics on the screen starts flashing red. _

_Akana: _I don't like the radiation we're getting from that thing. That's weird…

_Hiller: _Weird?

_Akana: _All I can tell you about the radiation is that there's a lot of it. It's all over the spectrum.

_Hiller: _That would be why we have the shields. Guess we really owe the scientists back on the ground.

_Olsen: _Too bad we have to blow up something that they'd win Nobel Prizes just for looking at.

_Hiller: _Yeah. Too bad. Now let's do it, shall we? Give me targeting.

_Several different targeting programs center over the dark object and start blinking. _

_Olsen: _We have lock.

_Hiller: _Fire the Annihilator.

_Olsen: _Firing.

_A streak of light shoots from the bottom of the screen and into the dark object. Tense silence from the crew, as if they're waiting to cheer._

_Hiller (without turning toward the camera)_: For those of you back home, just hold on a minute. The Annihilator isn't like a regular bomb. It takes a moment to –

_Suddenly, the dark object on the screen begins to move and change shape._

_Akana: _Something's happening.

_Hiller: _Good. In a few minutes, the biggest chunk of that thing still heading for Earth will be the size of a basketball. Which is still big enough to take _us_ out, so we'd better–

_Olsen: _No, that's not it – something's wrong.

_Hiller: _What?

_Olsen: _I've lost contact with the Annihilator. I don't know if –

_Suddenly, the radiation shields start to open._

_Hiller: _What the hell? Get those damn things closed!

_Another Crewmember (female voice): _I can't!

_Hiller: _What do you mean you can't?

_Same Crewmember: _I don't have any control! Something is –

_Olsen (staring at something beyond the viewscreen, outside the front window)_: Oh, my God!

_The viewscreen explodes, sending shards of glass and pieces of electronics flying through the cabin. Crewmembers duck and cover, shouting in alarm. The TV screen is suddenly filled with static, but voices can still be heard:_

"What is it? _What is it?_"

"The colors! The poison lights and fires!"

"About, about, in reel and rout, the death-fires danced at night…"

"Shut up, Olsen! Close that – "

"Oh, God! We woke it up! We woke it up and we made it angry!"

"Turn us around! Turn – "

"Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs upon –"

"-that's an order! We – "

"Don't let it don't let it don't let it"

"Hail Mary, full of Grace – "

"Can't let it get us, can't –"

"Don't touch that! Leave those airlocks alone!"

_Sound of gunfire, screams, voices descend into animal sounds._

_Silence._

_The static clears on the TV screen. Just a little. Just enough to recognize Captain Hiller. Just enough to see dark blotches where his eyes used to be, with similar dark stripes running down his face and streaking the walls of the cabin behind him._

_Hiller_: I'm sorry. Everyone…Sonya, honey…Patrick…I'm so sorry. We've failed. Worse than failed…Douglass was right…we woke it up…we woke it up and we made it angry…oh, God…Oh, God, _it's coming!_

_Starts to scream, then the TV screen goes black._

----

_A middle-aged, male news anchor stands at his desk, shouting at someone off-camera_.

"Turn it off! Turn it off! For God's sake, turn it off – what's that? We've lost them?"

_Looks at the camera, realizes that he's on live._

"Ladies and Gentlemen…"

_Struggles for words. Can't find them. Drops into his chair, raises a hand to cover his eyes. A younger, female co-anchor is already sitting down with her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking._

"I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen…some things…it's just too much. Please give us a moment."

_A "Technical Difficulties" sign appears on the screen._

**The Only Thing There Is To Say**

"Oh, God," Kim whispered, raising her hands to her mouth. Beside her, Ron was staring at the TV, tears silently streaming from his eyes. Rufus was curled up and whimpering in his cupped hands. All around them, the students of Yamanouchi were in much the same state.

"Yes, Possible-san," Sensei agreed as he slowly, carefully rose to his feet. "I believe that prayer is the proper reaction. May your God and all benevolent gods be with those brave warriors…and with us."

**Things Fall Apart**

As might be expected, incidents of "mass hysteria" only increased in number and severity after the failure of The Republic's mission.

----

Fourteen high school students in Izu, Japan, marched off the roof of their school building one after another before the faculty could make it out onto the roof to stop them. At that point, the remaining forty-seven students in line simply rushed the edge _en masse_, sweeping four of the teachers over the side with them.

----

A night orderly in a Madrid hospital was caught turning off patients' life support one after the other in the small hours of the morning. Most of the Intensive Care ward was lost before anyone realized what was happening.

----

A Taliban outpost in the mountains of Afghanistan decided that the best way to deal with a supply shortage was to add some local villagers to the food-stores.

When their grotesquely _haram_ provisions were discovered, their comrades shot them down on the spot, and declared that the entire slaughter was an "infidel atrocity".

----

A Baptist minister in Georgia drowned the unbaptized members of his congregation one after another in his Church's Baptismal pool. Afterward, he was crucified by the adults, all while he recited quotes from Leviticus, Deuteronomy, and the Gospels: "Suffer the little children to come unto me" when the first small head dipped obediently beneath the water; "I am the Way" when the railroad spikes went in; and his last words were "It is finished".

----

But there were some incidents that weren't possible to attribute to mass hysteria by any definition of the term. So they were quietly ignored. The world's military and police forces were strained to the breaking point as it was. They didn't have time to worry about things that they could do nothing about.

Like the airplane full of people rushing home to their families that disappeared from radar for five minutes, then reappeared over Atlanta where it made an emergency landing. Most of the passengers were dead, but a few (including the copilot) were white-haired, wild-eyed wrecks who couldn't stop muttering about "endless gray clouds" and "slimy things crawling on the wings". The outside of the plane was scored with what looked for all the world like sucker-marks from a huge squid.

Like the ship that ran aground in Morocco, empty of crew and passengers, its deck coated with trails of green slime.

And like the small city in Colorado where the campfire stories that had once haunted an odd young boy's nightmares began to crawl out of the night.

**Two Calls**

"We are officially out of options. The time has come to use your last resort."

"Have you been fully briefed as to the risks, sir?"

"The risks are irrelevant, Dr. Director. It's our only remaining possible source of information. Put Sheila Gomez in the Braintap Machine. That's an order."

----

_Beep beep be-deep_

_Beep beep be-deep_

"What's the sitch, Wade?"

"Kim. Ron. You have to come home. Lake Wannaweep is attacking Middleton."


	13. Landfall

Sheila Gomez and Dr. Elizabeth Director sat across the polished steel table from each other, looking at each other steadily. Each silently gave the other grudging respect; Sheila's dark eyes showed none of her fear, and Dr. Director's single eye neither danced with triumphant glee nor looked away in shame.

"So why tell me this?" Sheila said at last, breaking the silence. "You could've just taken me in like it was any other test. Drew's designs are all the same. If you'd given it a new coat of paint, I never would've known the difference."

"Until the 'test' began," Dr. Director said.

Sheila nodded, conceding the point.

"I didn't do this to be sadistic, if that's what you're thinking," Dr. Director continued. "I have no desire to twist the knife. I just thought you had the right to go in with your eyes open."

"Right. So instead of tricking me into it, you offer it to my brothers again, so they can volunteer, forcing _me_ to volunteer in their place. And all along, we just keep pretending that they aren't hostages to keep me in line."

Dr. Director shook her head. "No. There are no options this time. No volunteering. You're the one that's going into the Braintap machine."

Sheila stiffened, and her eyes flashed green. "And suppose I didn't want to be a good girl this time?"

Dr. Director didn't rise to the bait. She could have answered that that was the reason that Sheila was wearing the manacles, power dampeners, and energy siphons – but they both knew that those things only hindered Sheila Gomez as much as she allowed them to. An Alpha Bitch challenge might rouse Shego, and Shego didn't allow _anything_ to hinder her.

Instead, she appealed to Sheila Gomez.

"I didn't want to do this, you know. We both know the risks."

"I know," Sheila said, lowering her eyes for the first time, her shame overcoming her defiance. "I hope Dr. Possible never finds out how easily he could've been lobotomized."

"If he does, it won't be from me. But if it makes you feel better, I meant that there's risk to us, too. Every time somebody has tried to look into your mind, they've died. No one _wants_ to do this, but I have my orders."

"Right," Sheila said, sighing and raising her eyes. "If it wasn't you, it would be someone else."

"Right," Dr. Director said, nodding in agreement. "I just hope that I don't end up as damned as other people who've said that."

----

"Sorry, Doc. Can't let you out. Not today."

"What?" Drakken puffed up and glared through the force-field that kept him in his cell. "You can't keep me in here! I have several important projects at critical stages! My work can't be interrupted!"

The guard just shrugged. "Sorry, Doc, it'll have to wait. Orders from Dr. Director herself. There's something Top Secret going on today, and you can't see it."

----

The Global Justice agents finished clamping Sheila Gomez into the Braintap Machine and filed out of the room, sealing the door behind them.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It seemed her memory had been faulty. The Braintap Machine _didn't_ look like just another one of Drakken's interrogation devices (yet another chair with a helmet). No real surprise. How often did she _really_ pay attention to which of his toys he was playing with at the moment? But she remembered now. He'd been feeling rather literal-minded when he'd designed it, which was why the primary structure looked like a laser drill pointed between her eyes.

James Possible must have known that he was in trouble when he'd seen that, but he'd never known just how bad that trouble could have been.

Sheila did.

Breathe. Relax. It would be over soon, one way or another.

----

In the observation room, Dr. Director nodded to Dr. Patrick Rubert, the neurologist at the Braintap Machine's controls. They'd decided to use one of Global Justice's own scientists instead of Dr. Colleen Possible for this – on the grounds that by this point, Dr. Possible would already have been in the room, unclamping Sheila from the Machine, and getting ready to fight their way free with a scalpel.

Dr. Rubert nodded back, and his fingers danced across the keyboard. Inside the room, the Braintap's beam lanced into Sheila's forehead, instantly inducing a trance that could easily become a coma which could easily become brain death if Rubert hit a wrong key, or if he waited too long to bring her out, or if she had a simple bad reaction, or…

Dr. Director took a deep breath and forced herself to watch. It would be over soon, one way or another.

----

_Sheila found herself standing in an endless black void._

_She should have been floating; she could see no floor – the void seemed endless beneath her as well. But standing she was. Apparently the darkness beneath her had some sort of substance. _

_There was another object in the void, somewhere off in the distance to her (right? _Was _it her right? Were there directions here?)._

_She started to walk toward the object, and she reached it. How long did it take? Seconds or days, she didn't know. Apparently, there was no more time here than there was direction, except that she was sure she remembered time passing. _

_Anyway. She reached the object. And it was a gate. An iron gate, scarred and pitted and gleaming black, looking like it had been polished by flames. Sometimes it was only as big as the security gate for a graveyard, while other times it was as vast as the Gates of Hell. _

_And there, chained to the gates, straining to hold them closed, was Shego._

_Ah. A dream. Where else could you meet yourself, but in a dream?_

_It took a moment before Shego noticed her standing there. Apparently, she wasn't expecting guests. When she _did_ notice, her eyes went very wide. _

"You!" _She shrieked. "What are _you_ doing here?"_

"_Me? I'm dreaming. Aren't you supposed to know that?"_

"_You're not dreaming, you pathetic little whiner! You're actually _inside_ your mind! How did you get here?"_

_Well. That was a poser. If this wasn't a dream, then – _

_That was when an energy beam as thick as Sheila's body speared out of the darkness and struck the great gates, right at the lock. Shego screamed. Not a scream of rage or frustration, but…terror?_

"_Oh, that's right," Sheila said. "I'm being braintapped."_

"WHAT?"

_That was right. She remembered now. "There's no other way, Shego," she told her other self sadly, with perhaps a bit of pity. This had to be hard on her. "The Unshaper is coming, and they need to know how to stop it. So they braintapped us."_

"_And you _let_ them?"_

"_I'm not as selfish as you are, Shego," She answered, her voice hardening. "It had to be done. Soon, they'll know all of your secrets."_

"_All my secrets? All my _secrets_! You idiot! Do you have any idea what you've just _done_?"_

"_What?" Sheila demanded, her voice hardening and sharpening into a proximity of Shego's own sarcasm. "Have I made it so that we'll be locked up for _longer _than our whole lives?" _

"_Shut up! Shut up, you stupid, holier-than-thou little _bitch_! Don't you remember why you fucking _created_ me? You made me to hold it back! But now – "_

_The lock-box on the gates shattered, and Shego screamed again, turning her attention back to straining against the gate._

_Suddenly, perspective shifted crazily, and Sheila found herself looking down, although she was still standing on her feet and not falling against the iron bars. _

_Down. She was looking down, down into her own depths, into the dark silent secret place where dreams were born and memories died and instincts slithered in the warm, wet dark._

_Something was down there._

_Something was coming. _

_She could see it as a distant spark, a faint light in the endless black void. _

_Coming, something was coming, coming like a freight train, like a rocket, like a comet blazing through space on a world-murdering trajectory._

_Something was coming. _

_Something so colossal, so impossibly vast that it filled the bore of the void from horizon to horizon, and it was coming. _

_Something as old as worlds, with a hate so massive that it had gravity of its own._

_Sheila threw herself against the gate beside Shego, adding her own scream to her other self's, pressing and straining all her strength, already knowing that strength was nothing, that she had a better chance of stopping the stars from spinning._

_Coming. Coming, it was coming. Huge and old and dark and hateful and all made of killing green fire. _

_Coming. It was coming. _

----

Sheila's eyes opened and blazed forth with green light, and a tear made of green flame trickled down her cheek.

"_Perdona me,_" she whispered.

----

Dr. Rubert blinked and cocked his head, too surprised that Sheila was awake and speaking to consider the big picture.

"What does that – "

Dr. Director slammed her hand down on the palm-sized red button that the technicians had ghoulishly dubbed "the deadman's switch" and tackled him to the ground.

The blast shields crashed shut over the observation deck's windows just fractions of a second before green flame obliterated the security cameras and blinded the observation deck as to what was happening in the lab. Sirens screamed throughout the Global Justice complex as one of their worst-case scenarios came to life.

Dr. Elizabeth Director rose to her feet, leaving the still-stunned Dr. Rubert lying on the floor.

The blast shields, like the inside of Shego's cell, were made of an alloy that only people with Top Secret clearance were aware of. It was generally used to shield bunkers designated for high government officials from nuclear attacks.

And now those shields were starting to glow a dull red.

----

Two dozen Global Justice agents - armed with a random collection of "Comet Buster" weapons, assault rifles, energy throwers, and one grenade launcher; wearing a hastily thrown-on motley of riot gear and battle armor – formed a double firing line across the hall. Half knelt behind their shields while the other half stood behind them and aimed over the tops of their heads.

They did _not_ stand in front of the lab doors.

They expected Shego to blast through the doors, sending them flipping away like cards. Or maybe the huge steel slabs would melt and run like strawberry ice cream on a hot day. Either way, anything human standing in front of those doors would die.

So they stood back and away, down the hall, ready to fire.

And then something happened that they _didn't_ expect.

Sheila Gomez - Shego – or whoever she was now – walked casually through the steel doors, passing through them like a hot knife through butter. She left her silhouette in the doors for a moment, until the edges melted and ran and lost their shape.

She was naked, her clothing incinerated in the firestorm that had freed her from the Braintap Machine, but there was nothing sexy in that nakedness. She was beautiful, of course, but it was the kind of beauty that you fell down on your face before until it said 'fear not' or struck you down.

Her skin was alabaster tinged with verdigris, and it looked like every hair on her body had been transfigured into green flame. She was crowned and girdled and robed and gloved and booted in fire. The flames rose to the ceiling, but instead of merely licking at it, they began to spread across it like some reverse-pouring liquid. The ceiling first reddened, then rained.

The archangel of poisonous radiation had returned.

She didn't seem to notice them. Instead, she studied her hands curiously, turning them over and looking at them from every angle as if she'd never had such things before.

The highest-ranking agent there – a twenty-four-year-old lieutenant named Rodney Whittaker who was praying to Jesus that he didn't get anyone killed while simultaneously fighting a sudden, desperate need to go to the bathroom – shouted "Freeze!"

Shego glanced at them, and her eyes were windows into a green furnace.

"I said freeze!" Whittaker shouted again. "Turn off the fire and get down on the ground!"

She turned toward them. Two dozen weapons cocked.

"Last chance, freak!"

She took a step toward them. Even if Whittaker hadn't screamed "Fire!", they would have.

The hall was narrow, and the gunfire filled it. Not even Shego or Kim Possible could have dodged it all, especially not since she'd stepped away from the door to the lab. There was nowhere for her to go.

But then, she didn't try.

Lead evaporated as it touched her blazing aura, and energy beams seemed to just…splatter. That left –

"Billings! No!"

A grenade launcher isn't a precise weapon. You aim it at positions, not people. Still, Billings's shot was sharpshooter-perfect, and it struck Shego square in the chest.

The next thing Lieutenant Whittaker knew, he was picking himself up off the floor – his battle with his bladder lost and his ears bleeding – and looking around.

Thank God. They were all alive, or at least in one piece. What had Billings been _thinking_, using that damn thing in a ten-foot wide hallway? What had _he_ been thinking, allowing it? It was pretty obvious they hadn't been, and Dr. Director would no doubt chew their asses off for it.

But at least that thing was _dead_. That was what counted. Yes, sir, yes, ma'am, she was spread all over the –

That was when the smoke cleared, and Shego stepped out of it. Completely unmarked.

Her smile might have been gentle if her teeth hadn't been so very, very sharp.

Whittaker pulled his sidearm and the other agents – some of them, at least – started scrambling to their feet and raising their weapons.

She just smiled that benign, daggertoothed smile at them. Then she opened her mouth, ever so slightly, as if she was about to blow out birthday candles, or tell them a secret.

And then they all died.


	14. Shoring Up Supports: Rush to the Scene

Kim Possible slept soundly – well, as soundly as one can in the seat of a Yamanouchi hoverjet (pretty soundly, actually. She'd dealt with much worse). They were heading into a bad situation, but she wasn't one to sit up worrying once all the plans and preparations had been made. It was a waste of energy.

Besides, Ron had the sitting-up-and-worrying thing covered for her. Kim had been right there with him the first fifteen times or so he'd gone over it, but after the fifty-second, she'd told him (with the utmost tenderness) that there really wasn't a damn thing they could do about it as long as they were on the plane, and they really should get some rest before they jumped into battle.

He'd agreed and reclined his seat when she had, then waited for her to fall asleep (after endless mission-ride naps, he'd known what her breathing sounded like when she was asleep even before this trip to Yamanouchi. The fact that she also sometimes snored a little was a bit of a surprise, but it was nothing that a gentle nudge couldn't take care of). Once she had, he'd sat up again.

He knew she was right; that it served no purpose to keep dwelling on that last conversation they'd had at Yamanouchi, and that sleeping would be a better use of time. But his brain just wouldn't take the memo.

----

"_Master Sensei! We – "_

"_Must leave," He said, rising from his seat at his desk as his computer screen clicked off. "I know, Stoppable-sama. Load-san just contacted me as well."_

_That had brought both Kim and Ron up short. _

"_Oh," Kim said. "Well, then – "_

"_The hoverjet is being prepared. Do you require assistance in packing your belongings?"_

_That brought them both up short again._

"_Uh…no," Kim answered. "There's not really that much."_

"_You seem surprised, Possible-sama. Is something wrong?"_

"_No, it's just – "_

"_We were expecting more resistance," Ron answered. "A lecture about the larger struggle, or something like that."_

"_But this _is_ part of the larger struggle, Stoppable-sama."_

"_It is? But how – wait a second, why do you – "_

_Sensei didn't let him finish his question. "I told Hego-san that the Unshaper sent forth fragments of its Self and power 'every so often', did I not? Would that not imply that it had happened at least once _before_ the 'comet' that granted the Gomez family their abilities?"_

_Ron had gone absolutely pale, but still looked a bit confused – as if he was _pretty _sure he knew what Sensei was saying, but was hoping he was wrong. "Yeahhhh, but let's just pretend that Kim doesn't quite understand what you're getting at."_

"_Very well," Sensei nodded. Then he turned to Kim, apparently following Ron's suggestion to the letter. "Would it make more sense, Possible-sama, if I told you that Lake Wannaweep is an ancient meteor crater?"_

_Kim's mouth worked, but it was too dry for her to speak. Her scars stood out like red borderlines on the map of her paper-white face. Finally, she managed to say: "I guess it would."_

"_You have always said that Wannaweep was a place of evil," Sensei said, turning back to Ron. "And you were more right than you know. That fragment of the Unshaper has lain there for thousands of years – perhaps since before the first humans set foot on the North American continent. For most of that time, it has been content to simply poison its environment and mutate any creature that came near it. But then…"_

"_But then Ron's mom sent him to summer camp," Kim finished._

"_And the Unshaper sensed its enemy," Sensei continued. "And all of Lake Wannaweep turned against him."_

"_I knew it!" Ron shouted triumphantly, the gravity of the moment temporarily forgotten. "Everyone said I was crazy, but – "_

"_And you were, Stoppable-sama. It is completely irrational to believe that the landscape itself has turned against you, neh? But only in that irrationality were you able to see the truth: Wannaweep itself hated you."_

"_But no one believed me!" Ron wailed._

"_We _believed _you," Kim protested, looking guilty. "We just figured…well, some people just don't like summer camp."_

"_You are given to exaggeration, Stoppable-sama," Sensei said bluntly, adding what Kim would not. "And no summer camp could stay open long if it was truly as bad as you said…and for everyone else,_ it was not_. The mascot was actually quite friendly in other company, and the insects bothered other campers no more than usual." _

" _True, the fragment failed to destroy you – as much by chance, and your instinctive desire to avoid the lake as anything else – but it succeeded in damaging what should have been a close bond with nature, the animal world, and the creature that would come to be your totem."_

_Something suddenly struck Ron, and his eyes went wide. "So when I mutated myself into that beaver-thing so I could fight Gill that time…"_

"_You risked even more than you knew. Yes. But you were not destroyed, and chaos is difficult to corrupt. For you more than anyone else in the world, darkness cannot simply enter your soul. You must not only invite it in, but actively cultivate it…or plant it yourself and allow it to grow."_

_Then, almost as quickly, it was anger instead of horror that flashed onto Ron's face. "Enough with the Yoda!"_

"_Ron!" Kim scolded. But for once, he ignored her. His worst nightmare was happening in Middleton, and he was just about out of patience with Sensei's Mysterious Old Master act._

"_You never thought that, I don't know, maybe, we might just possibly want to _know _about a piece of the world-eating monster living within an hour's drive of our home?" _

"_What purpose would that have served, Stoppable-sama?" Sensei answered, once again employing uncharacteristic bluntness. " You were unprepared to do anything useful about it before."_

"_And why do you keep _calling _me that?"_

"_Huh?" Even Rufus was caught off-guard by that one, and he exchanged the glare he'd been fixing on Sensei for a look of confusion directed up at his human. _

_Sensei, as always, was unperturbed. "Because etiquette demands it, Stoppable-Sama. Now that you go forth into battle, you and Possible-Sama are no longer my students. You are the Laughing Magician and the Scarred Warrior, the Celestial Emperor's own samurai champions. You are generals. I am a mere drill instructor. Now." He started to walk past the two young people – and the naked mole rat – who could only stare at him as he went. "If my students are worthy of the name, the hoverjet is prepared. You should fetch your belongings."_

_---- _

"Stoppable-sama." Startled out of his reverie, Ron blinked and looked up at Yori, who was leaning over them, little more than a silhouette in the unlit cabin. "We approach Middleton, Stoppable-sama," She said softly. "Perhaps you and Possible-sama – "

"Don't call me that."

Both Ron and Yori jumped this time, then snapped their attention to Kim, who was rolling away from the wall and sitting up. All Ron could really see of her was an outline and a gleam of eyes in the dark, but she didn't seem to be yawning or stretching. She was just immediately and completely awake. How did she _do _that?

"Sensei has personal memories of 1930. He can call us what he wants. But I don't want _you_ to forget that it was about five minutes ago that we were baring our souls on the windswept castle walls and painting each other's nails."

There was another gleam in the dark as Yori smiled. "I remember it with honor…Kim-san." Then the gleam disappeared as her smile faded. "But whatever I am to call you, you should come with me. There is something both…_all_ of you should see."

----

Rufus moaned as he looked out the front window of the cockpit.

"I'm right there with you, buddy."

Kim nodded in silent agreement. The entire Tri-city area was blacked out. From what Wade had told them, Upperton and Lowerton were still pretty much functioning as parts of twenty-first century America, even if they did lock themselves into their houses after sundown and stay well away from the Middleton town line (to the point that some houses near that border had actually been abandoned). Middleton, on the other hand…

A blackout in the Tri-city area should have meant a fifty-mile radius of darkness. Instead, two columns of light rose into the night. One was the familiar yellow of streetlights and the white of searchlights. That was Smarty Mart, where the population of Middleton had taken shelter and power was supplied by some of the Tweebs' less-dangerous experiments.

The other was a cold, ghostly, radioactive column of colors from an alien spectrum that crawled and twisted and left afterflash images in your mind.

That was Lake Wannaweep.

"C'mon boys," Kim said grimly, turning back toward the cabin. "We'd better get ready. I think we're going to have our work cut out for us when we land."

"Wait, Kim-san," Yori said, catching her arm. "As impressive as this sight is, it is not what I called you for. There is more that you need to see."

**View From the Ground**

Smarty Mart's main doors crashed open, and Monique rushed in, pushing Felix before her. She was disheveled and covered with scratches, and he was even worse: his clothes were shredded and blood-trickling holes in his skin like stabs from an ice pick peaked through some of the rents. A cut over his left eye had covered half his face with a sheet of blood, and he had a cloth wrapped around his left forearm that he was pressing down tightly as it slowly turned red.

"Medic!" She shouted.

"Monique, really – " Felix said, his voice tight with pain. "You don't have to – "

"FTS, BF," she said, starting toward the infirmary that Colleen Possible had set up in the pharmacy. "Yes I do. If I CDS when you're hurt, I'm gonna go batshit crazy. So let me be useful."

"CDS – can't do shit?"

"Not the time to play, baby."

"Monique!" Mrs. Dr. Possible exclaimed as she rushed up to meet them. "Felix! What happened?"

Before they could answer, the door crashed open again and Steve Barkin – as disheveled and beat-up as Monique (though not as much as Felix) and hefting one of the Tweebs' energy rifles – burst in. "All right people!" He bellowed. "Time's up! Irregulars, mobilize! The rest of you, get under cover!"

He turned and raced back out the door as Smarty Mart burst into chaos.

Her face ice-white, Colleen Possible turned her attention back to the teenagers before her, who both nodded – Monique frantically, Felix wearily.

"They'd have eaten us all, Dr. Possible," Monique said. "Eaten us all and been in here already, if it wasn't for my baby boy, here." She stroked Felix's hair for a moment, then looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glistening, filled with a nitroglycerin combination of shock, anger, concern, and terror. "But they had fliers, too."

"Bugs the size of pigeons and bats with five-foot wingspans," Felix elaborated. He nodded toward the bloody cloth on his arm. "A beetle did this."

Dr. Possible broke out of her own shock and dropped to one knee by Felix's side. She lifted a corner of his makeshift bandage, then nodded grimly. "It's ugly, but it's not pumping," She said. "We'll clean it out, get some stitches in there, and you'll be fine." She climbed to her feet and started for the infirmary, waving them after her.

"Beth!" She called. "Aaron! Prep the infirmary! We've got a rush coming!"

Her two teenage helpers – who Monique's mind still insisted on identifying as Bonnie's friend and Zita's BF – were already moving. They'd been expecting this moment since the night they'd first taken shelter in Smarty Mart.

Lake Wannaweep had come for the refugees of Middleton.

**Sorry it's been such a long wait for such a small payoff. RL and writer's block are a brutal tag-team. But I think I've got 'em on the ropes, so something more substantial will be on its way very soon.**


	15. Shoring Up Supports: Holding the Line

The attack had come only moments after sundown. The red light hadn't even fully faded from the western sky before Wannaweep's hordes had come boiling out of the shadows of the woods and the city. In a way, they couldn't have chosen a worse time – the refugees had been changing the watch, so there had been twice as many armed people standing around than there otherwise might have been.

In the end, it hadn't mattered. The lake-things had swarmed and overrun the outer barricade in minutes, not even seeming to notice the huge losses that the defenders inflicted on them. With the barricade taken, the parking lot was lost – the defenders had been forced to make a fighting retreat to the inner barricade. Felix Renton had covered the retreat from the air until Wannaweep's fliers had forced him down.

Now the defenders were struggling to hold the second barricade around Smarty Mart's entrance, to prevent the lake-things from getting at the noncombatants inside. Nana Possible, dressed in her granddaughter's old battle suit and armed with a pair of her grandsons' nastiest modified "toy laser pistols", was leading the defenses, her sons and younger granddaughter beside her (Slim and Joss had dismounted and joined the rest at the barricade – a cavalry charge out into the swarm of lake-things would have been suicide). The rest of the resistance consisted of the self-dubbed Middleton Irregulars: surviving members of the Middleton police force and a number of able-bodied citizens who'd been trained by Steve Barkin. Some were armed with more of the Tweebs' toys, but there were only so many of those to go around. Most of the rest had raided Smarty Mart's hunting section. Brick led the remainder in wielding a motley array of tools and sporting goods to fend off the ones that managed to get in close.

For a moment, it looked like the defenses might hold. Nana stood atop the barricade, trusting her troops to cover her against ground threats as she knocked fliers out of the air. Slim and Joss did just that, leaning their rifles across the barricade and picking off attackers calmly and methodically, just like shootin' varmints back home on the ranch. James Possible, much less accustomed to this sort of thing than his kin, just tried to keep his lunch down and focused on the targets he had a better chance of hitting – the big slow ones, like the salmon as big as a full-size van that forced a gap in the first barricade and came slithering across the parking lot with its mouth gaping wide enough to take a grown man in half. Ordinary bullets couldn't penetrate its scales – a few members of the Irregulars tried – but his energy weapon took its head off.

One advantage of the Tweebs' toys – you never had to worry about a less-than-clean kill. If you hit in the general vicinity of your target, that was enough.

James lost his battle with his stomach after that one, but he wiped off his mouth and – with a pat on the back from Slim – returned to the line, pale and determined.

----

Felix clutched Monique's hand tightly, and kept his face resolutely turned toward hers as Dr. Possible finished stitching up the slash in his left arm. He wasn't feeling anything – he'd been properly Novocained before she'd started sewing – but that didn't mean he wanted to look. Monique had, and her face had gone nearly as pale as his.

"There," Dr. Possible announced, as he heard the sound of scissors behind him. "Done."

"That's it?" Monique asked. "He's gonna be okay?"

Colleen Possible smiled tolerantly and nodded. It was the seventh time the girl had asked, but she could extend her patience a little further. After all, if James had been the one to come spinning down out of the sky with blood dripping from him…

"He really is, Monique," she answered.

"Good," Felix said. "Now that that's settled, I think I'll go find a quiet place to pass out."

"You do that, baby," Monique said, bending to plant a kiss on his forehead (being careful to avoid the butterfly-bandaged cut over his eye). "Get some rest." Then she straightened. "I'll be right back, okay? There's something I gotta do."

"I know you do."

He caught her by the hand as she started to turn away, and pulled her back down for another kiss. On the lips this time. There was a smile on her face as she straightened back up – a warm one.

"Don't keep me waiting," he said.

"Oh, I won't." With that, she turned and walked away.

"That's my girl," he said as he watched her go. Normally, he would have enjoyed the view as she did. Tonight was on the dark side of the moon away from 'normal'.

"Is it always like this?" He asked, without turning his head or looking up.

"Every time."

"How do you keep from going crazy?"

Colleen Possible just put a hand on his shoulder and said nothing.

----

The doors of Smarty Mart slammed open and Monique strode out, her face like a stormcloud. No one noticed, as they were all quite busy at the time. That was okay. She'd already spotted what she was looking for.

Kim's brothers called it the Richter. It was the largest energy rifle they'd designed. She didn't know why it was simply lying off to one side. Nor did she care.

It was big. Heavy. It barely fit in her hands, and she needed to sling the strap over her shoulder just to be able to carry it. That was okay, too. She could feel the power humming inside it, banked but ready to flare to life. Power like a volcano trapped in a bottle.

Perfect.

She marched to the firing line and shoved several of her friends aside. Bonnie, Tara, and Josh all stared at her in shock.

"Monique?"

"What are you – "

"Stay back, they're – "

She didn't notice. Instead, she raised the gun. As she did, she felt the unrippled, before-the-storm calm that she'd been moving through start to break. She'd been too scared for too long, seen too many friends hurt too many times. Enough. No more.

"You" A whisper. She thumbed off the safety.

Something deep down cracked inside her.

"Hurt." A conversational tone. She threw a switch. Maximum aperture.

Something white-hot rose out, like steam, superheated, finally released from untellable pressure.

"_My_" A shout. She threw another switch. Maximum power.

Like lava. Rising, raging, blasting up the long-dormant bore of the volcano.

"_BOYFRIEND!_" She pulled the trigger. Her scream roared out of the barrel of the gun.

Eruption.

Whole yards of asphalt and lake-things simply evaporated.

Bonnie, Tara, Josh, and a few of the other nearby Irregulars just stared at her in shock – and a little bit of fear – as she screamed and fired again and again (although some who were further away sent up encouraging shouts) until suddenly, Brick lunged forward and slammed his bat down on something that they hadn't noticed crawling through the barricaded.

"Garter snake," he said, stepping back, his bat dripping gore.

His friends and his girlfriend looked at each other. Wannaweep garter snakes were venom-dripping mutants as thick as Brick's wrist these days. If it had bitten Monique while she was paying all of her attention to the parking lot…

"Come on," Brick said, turning back to the fray. "She can't take on all of them, no matter how much she wants to."

----

Inside, Wade and Zita's fingers danced across keyboards as they brought the automated defenses on-line.

Zita operated the guns that had been mounted on the façade of the building and on random lampposts around the parking lot. Each was as powerful as Monique's hand-cannon, but each only got off two or three shots before it was destroyed by the lake-things.

That was okay. She was only buying time until –

----

The McHenry laser grid that Wade had wired up among a group of still-standing lampposts flared to life, and a huge section of the Wannaweep horde ceased to exist.

Cheers went up from the defenders – then even more cheers as they saw what was happening.

The McHenry grid was working better than Wade had dared to hope. Against an intelligent foe, that initial burst would have done the most killing. After that, the invaders would have been denied that field position, and they would have been forced to go around, breaking the momentum of their charge.

The lake-things were not intelligent. Twisted as they were, they were still animals. Some were blinded enough by their own frenzy to charge straight into the grid, while others were forced into it – one after another – by the press behind them. All fell into quivering, cauterized pieces.

The cheers started to turn into savage, victorious shouts as the defenders started to cut down the divided, depleted lake-things. The defenses were holding. They were going to hold. They were –

The cheering and the shouting stopped as a car from the outer barricade rose into the air, and a new sound cut through the shrieking of the lake-things.

Voices. Deep, booming, identical voices chanting in a language that no one could recognize – or was it _languages_? The voices didn't chant in unison, but in different words, different rhythms, until all that could be heard was a deep, rolling thunder.

Then lights speared out of the darkness – slimy green, bloody red, fungal purple, and spectral blue – and a huge shape loomed out of the Middleton night.

The Camp Wannaweep totem pole.

The light shone from its eyes and mouths and it continued to chant as it raised the car in two sets of its arms. Then, with a roar, it hurled two tons of Detroit rolling iron into Wade's trap, shearing off one of the anchor-poles and collapsing the grid.

Laser beams sprayed out into horde, cutting scores of lake-things in two before the beams winked out, but the totem pole didn't seem to care. It just resumed chanting and pointed at the inner barricade with all of its right arms.

Twisted shapes poured out of the night and flowed over and through the barricade, the gaps forced open by the totem pole and the larger creatures in the first wave acting like breaks in a dam, allowing the flood waters to run.

Above, the stars disappeared and the sky turned black as bats and insects and mutated, unnaturally-behaving birds filled it.

A second wave. Even bigger than the first.

The weary defenders raised their rapidly-depleting weapons and braced themselves for the end.

----

"Are you sure you want to do this, Ron?"

"I'm sure that I _don't_. But I want to do it the old-fashioned way even _less_. The less I give Wannaweep's posse to grab me by, the happier I am."

"Good point. Do you see what we need to do down there?"

"Yup. Got your back as always, KP."

"Not this time – this time, _I'm_ clearing the road for _you._ Rufus, can you keep the little ones from hamstringing us?"

"Can do!"

"Good. Then let's do it."

----

The situation was even worse than it had looked at first. The lake-things were no longer attacking as a disorganized mob, nor even a disciplined force. They were acting like members of a single body, directed by a single will. They acted with perfect unity to execute strategies that – while simple – should have been beyond a pack of maddened animals.

It wasn't difficult to pinpoint the source of the newly-formed hivemind – only one thing had really changed, after all – but doing something about it was a bit harder. Bullets – which should have torn the ancient, dry-rotted totem pole to splinters – didn't seem to have any effect at all, and anyone with one of the Tweebs' toys became a focus of the attack. The Possible family was about to be swarmed under, and if they went, so did the center of the barricade. The defenders would be split in two and cut off as the lake-things poured into Smarty Mart.

If there was going to be a miracle, it was just about out of time.

----

Kim bid Yori goodbye with a quick hug, then watched as the other girl gave Ron a farewell peck on the cheek.

She felt no particular urge to throw Yori out of the plane as she did so, something that she considered a sign of personal growth.

Then she jumped out of the plane, and she had no more time to worry about such things.

For a moment, she forgot everything as the wind rushed past her face, her hair streamed behind her, and the old thrill raced through her body. The world was nothing but spinning lights beneath her, and she was flying.

She hadn't done this since Shego had attacked Middleton High in June. Too long. Far, far too long. She'd discovered other joys since then, other thrills, but she needed this. Wasn't complete without it.

She needed to fly.

Another piece of her life had come back to her.

Then she opened her eyes – wind-tears streaming back along her face – and saw blots of darkness blocking some of the light, and the world returned.

The bats were rising up to meet her.

Wade had told her about Wannaweep's mutated children, and she hadn't doubted him. But she'd never _imagined_…

The lead bat was as big as she was, and it had a wingspan like a small airplane. She could feel its sonar-shriek vibrating in her bones. If it had been day, she would have seen its mouth gaping, sharklike teeth sticking out of its mouth at crazy angles. But it was night, and all she could see was a single, three-lobed burning eye.

Her options were limited. Unlike her opponents, she couldn't fly – which meant that she couldn't _steer_. The only way she could go was down.

She couldn't just "shell" or "shield", either. They'd just go around her and after Ron.

She knew what she had to do.

_They're animals. Just animals. Tortured, mutilated, mad animals that will be better off…_

She tilted herself forward and raised her hands over her head, turning her drop into a dive, turning her body into a falling spike.

"Mask," she shouted, and her armor flowed up to cover her head just as she fell _through_ the lead bat.

The other bats scattered, shrieking in what might have been fright as they tried to escape the human weapon in their midst. One – almost as big as the leader – was too slow, and she snapped off its wing as she passed through the bottom of the flock.

She clenched her teeth and fought against her stomach as she spread her limbs and flattened herself out again. It wouldn't do to throw up with the wind blowing in her face.

She'd never killed anything before, unless you counted swatting bugs. Which she didn't. Which she knew was totally inconsistent, but –

She was distracting herself. Bad. She had to do what she had to do now, and be traumatized by it later. Because right now, the ground was coming up at her very, very fast.

"Ripcord!" She shouted, and she felt the shift as her armor reshaped itself again, as threadlike strands and a paper-thin "canvas" of armor-material billowed from her back.

_Wade, you continue to rock, _she thought as she felt the familiar jerk of her freefall being broken. She didn't think about her armor's other architects – her father, her brothers, or even Justine. They weren't supposed to be involved in things like this. Wade was a volunteer – maybe he was too young to be, but who was _she_ to say so? – but the others…

Part of the reason for the missions – the ones about saving the world, not just stopping the crooks or retrieving the stolen property – was to keep them safe. Keep things like this _away_ from them.

But there _was _no more safe anymore. Nowhere in the world that was "away".

This was brought home to her forcefully when she looked down and saw that a large, dark mass was moving beneath her – some black cloud or mist, swirling up into a column like some reversed tornado, rising to meet her, to block her path to the ground.

She'd gotten past the bats. Now, she had to face the bugs.

----

Wade's eyes went wide as one of his monitors started flashing at him. That computer had been tracking a familiar, incoming signal for some time now. He'd been aware of it in the corner of his eye and the back of his mind, but he'd had more important things to worry about.

Now, there was _nothing_ more important.

"Oh, shit," he breathed. "Oh, God _damn._"

"Hey, kid," Zita said, shooting him a strained grin. "Don't make me wash your mouth out with soap, okay?"

He ignored her and kept cursing steadily as he reached over and threw a switch.

----

The PA system outside the building crackled to life, largely unnoticed by the combatants until Wade's voice came through it:

"Incoming!" He shouted. "We've got incoming!"

"We got a whole parkin' lot fulla incoming, pardner!" Joss shouted back.

She didn't expect him to hear, of course, but he apparently did: "Incoming friendlies! Kim and Ron! Everybody cease fire! _Cease fire!_"

----

Kim grunted as the first few bugs hit her – from reflex, not the impacts, which she barely felt. After that she covered her face with her arms and tried to resist both screaming and hurling.

It only took a few seconds for her to realize that this wasn't going to work.

She'd been afraid that the bugs would foul her parachute, make her fall – but her descent was actually _slowing_. Were they going to carry her away to Wannaweep? Any other time, it would have been crazy even to _think_ – but even if that wasn't happening, she was slowing down, and more and more bugs were gathering, collecting, skittering on her armor, unrecognizable, steaming fluids dripping from mandibles…could those mandibles cut through her armor before it could repair itself? Could a stinger slip through?

She couldn't take that chance.

But to avoid it, she had to take another.

She'd just have to put her trust in Wade, her father, Justine…

She tried not to think about the fact that she'd also be depending on her brothers.

"Fold!"

----

Colleen Possible had come running as soon as she'd heard Wade's announcement. She burst through Smarty Mart's front doors just in time to see Kimmie's parachute collapse into her back.

Leaving Kimmie to fall two hundred feet into the parking lot.

Colleen screamed and lunged, but her mother-in-law grabbed her before she could charge directly into the mass of lake-things and carve her way to her daughter with a scalpel.

"Wait," Nana Possible said. "Watch."

----

Kim hit the ground with her knees unlocked, dropping to the ground and rolling with the impact.

_This_ impact she felt. It was bone-jarring. But then, she should have been splattered. She felt electric tingles running across her body, and if anyone could have seen her as she rolled, they would have seen sparks leaping and dancing around her armor as it absorbed as much of the impact as it could.

Then she finished her roll and came to her feet, braced for an attack. None came; the bizarre creatures around her were all staring up at the sky (as were the defenders at the barricade, although she couldn't see that).

She turned to look where they were looking, already smiling at what she knew she was going to see:

Ron. Descending from the sky, _sans_ parachute, Lotus Blade in his hand, wrapped in a corona of golden flame.

As always, he was going for the maximum distraction – and as always, it had prevented at least a few kicks from reaching her ass. Like the skydiving, it was something that hadn't happened in far too long: Team Possible up and running, acting like a real team again.

It felt even better than the skydiving had.

_He really could've arrived down here before me,_ she thought, her grin broadening in fond good humor as he touched down. _But magic or not, he's still such a baby about free-fall._

He touched down, and the flames went out. Rufus hopped out of his pocket and up to his shoulder, where he grounded the butt of an escrima stick like a quarterstaff.

Silence hung heavy in the air as the lake-things – even the ones that were literally locked in combat with the Middleton Irregulars – turned to face the new arrivals.

The smile had dropped from Kim's face as she met her partners' eyes, and her game face was in place. The question was "Are you ready, boys?", and they saw it in her eyes long before it reached her lips.

"Got your back," Ron said.

"Uh-huh," Rufus nodded.

Kim grinned at them – a fierce, terrible grin like the one she'd worn after she'd kicked Shego into the Diablos' control tower – and turned toward the totem pole.

"Plowing the road," she said.

Her grin faltered as she looked out at the creatures before her. She knew what she had to do. But that knowledge, and the knowledge that she'd done it _already_ on her way down, didn't help her. Even the rage of knowing that these twisted, unnatural _things_ were attacking her family only helped a little.

_They're just animals,_ she told herself. _Sick, mad, mutilated, twisted, tortured animals who'll be better off put out of their misery. Just animals. Just…monsters._

_Monsters._

That word. Something about that word changed everything. She turned it over in her mind, as if she'd never heard or thought it before.

_Monsters. Yes. Monsters._

It was like a…a magic word. Yes. Some ancient name of power that called up something old and wild and powerful. Something deep inside, some part of her that had been born, and had always lived, to fight the monsters.

If she'd never touched the Lotus Blade, she might not have recognized this part of herself. It might even have remained asleep. But she had, and so she welcomed the Scarred Warrior's coming.

"Energy blades: kill," she murmured, and suddenly her hands were filled beams of energy like twin red lightsabers.

Its wooden eyes widening, the totem pole raised one of its arms, but before it could shout a command, Kim leaped forward.

----

It's been said that the greats always make it look easy. An uninformed audience may clap and cheer, but it takes a fellow professional to appreciate just how extraordinary a great's work is.

So it was that only Nana Possible knew how truly amazing Kim's dance of destruction among the lake-things really was.

Nana, like Sensei, was eighty-five years old, and she'd seen a lot in that time. But she'd never seen anything like this. She'd fought with and against the best – even Kim herself, not that long ago – and she'd never felt outmatched (although, during her sparring match with Kim, she'd been well aware that she had to finish it quickly – the experience of eighty-five only counterbalances the stamina and resistance to injury of sixteen just so much).

Now, looking out at her granddaughter cutting a path as wide as her blades' reach through the lake-things, she finally did. No one that she'd ever met – even her own younger self – could stand in front of Kimmie at this moment and survive. Like Sensei on the day that Kim had first touched the Lotus Blade, she'd never seen such a display of martial artitstry in her life.

Unlike Sensei, she wasn't moved to tears. The beauty was offset by the blood.

----

Kim leaped and spun and danced through the lake-things, blazing liquid swirls of red trailing where she passed – hair and blades.

And wherever she passed, lake-things fell dead. The nest-of-snakes creature that lost all of its hissing, venom-dripping heads at once. The four-foot, bat-winged lamprey that was split down the middle, and the coydog that fell in two as she danced by.

She was Kali, dancing destruction and drunk on demon blood, cutting a red path through to the totem pole.

Roaring a challenge, the totem pole plucked a wrecked scooter from the barricade, the metal crumpling like tinfoil in its grip, and flung it at her. She didn't even slow or take a step toward dodging as it turned aside in midair and plowed into a pack of dog-sized rats.

----

That was enough to shake the defenders out of their own shock It was all happening so _fast_ – had even a full minute passed since Kim had hit the ground?

But then Barkin bellowed: "Are we waiting for something?" and the Middleton Irregulars went over the top.

But now it was different. Now it was more like cutting grass than killing monsters. The lake-things didn't even turn around and defend themselves – they just kept pushing forward in their single-minded drive to destroy the Laughing Magician and the Scarred Warrior.

----

The totem pole roared another challenge as Kim burst free of the mob of lake-things, but she didn't pause or hesitate for a second, not even to quip.

She came in low and fast, ducking beneath a swing of the totem pole's lowest fist and raking her blades along its side. To her complete lack of surprise,the only marks they left were minor scorches.

_Magic. Spankin'. Good thing we came prepared._

----

"Hey! Dude!"

The totem pole ponderously turned back, just in time for its eyes to widen in shock before Ron Stoppable swept its stumpish legs out from underneath it with a single swing of the Lotus Blade's latest form:

A golden-glowing chainsaw.

----

So _that_ was what it felt like to be The Distraction. Not so bad, really.

----

The totem pole roared in what might have been pain, rage, dismay, or all three as it toppled forward. It caught itself with its arms and tried to skitter away like a millipede, but Ron completed his spin and took out half of its arms with the backswing. With another roar, the totem pole crashed to the ground.

When it did, all of the lake things froze in place, their hivemind suddenly decapitated.

Ron didn't notice that as he stepped forward and started to press the saw into the totem pole's trunk. He didn't even notice as the lake-things started to scream and thrash. He was far too busy taking his revenge on one of the primary symbols of his Summer of Hell.

Kim _did_ notice.

----

"Ron!"

" – had nightmares about you for years! Not so tough _now_ are you?"

"_Ron!_"

"How do you like me now? Huh? _Huh?_"

"_RON! _Ron, plan!"

"Huh? Oh, right."

----

Ron stepped aside, the Lotus Blade a katana once more, and Kim plunged her blades into the gash that he'd opened in the totem pole's side, carrying metal-cutting heat into the decades-old, paper-dry heartwood.

For a single, desperate moment, nothing happened, and both of them had time to wonder if the plan they'd formulated in the plane was going to work, or if the totem pole's magic was too strong, even after it had been pierced by the Lotus Blade.

Then it happened very quickly.

Smoke trickled from every split and seam, mouths and eyes.

Then billowed.

Then the totem pole burst into flame.

Kim and Ron stepped back, shielding their faces as a column of fire roared fifteen feet into the air. The totem pole gave a final, four-throated howl, and then collapsed. Every lake-thing in the Smarty Mart parking lot went rigid, and then went still.

The two heroes looked out over what they'd wrought.

"Efficient," Ron commented.

"Very," Kim nodded. Then she looked at him and frowned. "By the way…berserk much?"

"I guess. You really should try it, KP. It's very therapeutic."

"Uh-huh," Rufus agreed, appearing at their feet. He was covered in some sort of green goo, and he was carrying a beetle's head the size of his own in one claw, his escrima stick in the other.

Kim made a face as the naked mole rat shook himself clean. "Ew. I'll take your word for it." Then her face turned serious. "Now c'mon. Let's see if everyone's okay."

The bemused expressions dropped from the boys' faces, and they turned serious as well.

"Right."

"Uh-huh."

It turned out that "everyone" was. They hadn't taken more than a few steps before they were swarmed under by friends, family, and assorted well-wishers. As a point of interest, that was when they discovered that Kim's mother and Ron's father were both still strong enough to lift their offspring clear off the ground and swing them around with a properly-motivated hug.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, do you hear me! Never!"

"I'm sorry, mom, but – "

"Oh, don't be sorry, just – "

"Ronald! When did you become Superman?"

"That's a long story, Dad…"

It all rapidly devolved into a hugging, shouting, occasionally weeping – and, in the case of Monique, Tara, and a few others, squealing – mass. Everyone was amazed by how much muscle Ron had packed on, and pleased how Kim had filled out (when she'd left, more than a month ago, she'd still had the thin, pale look of someone who'd been left wasted by a bad bout of the flu, though no one said this).

But after a few minutes of this, Ron noticed someone missing.

"Where's Felix?" He asked, scanning the edges of the crowd, in case his friend couldn't get through.

"He's inside," Monique answered. "He got hurt fighting off the fliers in the first wave. Don't worry," she said, seeing her friends' look of concern. "Kim's mom sewed him up. He'll be okay." Then she turned a worried look of her own to Mrs. Dr. P. "Right?"

"Of course he will," Dr. Possible answered.

Kim and Ron looked at each other.

"I think it's time for you to show my mom your new trick," Kim said. "I think she'll like it."

"That's a _good_ idea," Ron agreed. "Can you take me to him, Mrs. Dr. P?"

"Of course," she replied. She looked perplexed, but didn't let that stop her. She'd seen too many things in the last few months – most of them from Kim and Ron – to really be surprised by anything anymore. She'd only gone a few steps toward Smarty Mart, though, before she stopped and turned back to her daughter.

"Aren't you coming, too, honey?" She asked. "Don't you want some food, or to rest a bit?" She hesitated. "Maybe get cleaned up?"

It was only then that Kim noticed that she and Ron were both covered with soot, and she'd been pretty well painted with blood, besides. It didn't stick to the surface of her armor, so it was slowly dripping off, but still. She was almost as gross as Rufus had been.

And no one had hesitated to hug her. She was touched, but it was also a little tragic how everyone was getting so used to this kind of thing. It was what she'd tried to keep away from them.

"Not yet," she said, locking eyes with Ron instead of her mother. He nodded back at her in grim agreement.

"This isn't over," she went on. "Lake Wannaweep isn't done with us, so we need to take advantage of the window while we've got it. There are some things we're going to need."


	16. Shoring Up Supports: Salvage

**Recovery**

Kim Possible stood in front of the three-story Victorian house with the muted blue-gray siding, and wondered why she was there.

Oh, she knew _how_ she'd gotten here. There were no gaps in her memory, no coming out of sleepwalked dazes, no sudden, teleportational changes of scene. After she'd sent the others on their various errands, she had simply walked here.

And she had no idea why.

She shifted from one foot to the other, trying to decide what to do next. Then she…kept shifting from one foot to the other. Someone was behind her. Someone or some_thing_. Someone or something who was coming up fast but quiet – if she'd needed to depend on her hearing, she might not have noticed, but there were other ways to sense presence and approach, some mundane and some mystical. Yamanouchi taught them all, but she hadn't been able to learn the mystical, and she'd known the mundane before.

Everyone pushed the air before them when they moved.

She kept shifting as whoever or whatever approached. She couldn't let them know that she knew they were there.

Hold…

Hold…

Holllllld…

_NOW!_

She whipped around, raising her hand. "Bla – "

Nana.

She snapped her hand back down to her side, closing her fist and snuffing the energy blast before it could truly spark.

"Good reflexes, dear," Nana said, seeming completely unperturbed that she'd come within half a syllable of losing everything from the shoulders up.

"Thanks, Nana," Kim said, relaxing her fist. "You really shouldn't sneak up on me like that, though. The sitch is a bit tense for 'I just wanted to see what you've learned'."

"Oh, it's nothing like that, dear. It's just that at my age, some habits are hard to break."

"I'll take your word. So…" Kim paused, but couldn't think of a polite way to say it. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting ready to ask you the same question," Nana retorted.

"But what about – "

Nana cut her off before she could finish the question.

"Your father and brothers can take care of themselves just fine, dear," She said. "And if they run into more than they can handle, your uncle will be there. Meanwhile, I am not about to allow a young lady to wander around town after dark unescorted."

Kim smiled and nodded in acquiescence, but Nana wasn't finished:

"Now please answer the question."

Kim sighed and the smiled dropped from her face as she turned back toward the house. "I wish I knew, Nana. I mean I really, _really_ wish I knew. I just…there's something I need to do here. I _know _it. I can _feel_ it. I just…don't know what it is."

Nana nodded as if that answer satisfied her. "All right," was all she said.

"So you don't think I'm crazy?" Kim asked, relieved.

"I've seen a lot of strange things in my time, sweetie," Nana said. "A bit of intuition is nothing."

"But I'm not _supposed_ to have intuition," Kim argued. "That's Ron."

"Call it a hunch then, and that's even _less_ 'crazy'. Either way, we should get on with it before Wannaweep sends in the – "

Both of them whipped around, Kim raising her hand and Nana pulling one of the Tweebs' pistols.

Ron yelped and ducked, covering his head with his arms.

"Reinforcements," Nana said, returning the gun to its holster.

"Not a reinforcement, not a reinforcement," Ron whimpered. "I'm really not, I promise."

"Ron," Kim sighed, pulling his hands away. "Why would you sneak up on us like that? Especially at a time like _this_? It's one thing for Nana – she's got sixty-five years of habit – "

"Seventy, really."

" – seventy years of habit behind it. What's your excuse?"

"I _wasn't _sneaking," Ron insisted. "I was just in a hurry."

Nana frowned. "What does _that_ have to do with – "

"Yamanouchi, Nana," Kim reminded her.

"Oh. Right."

That was all. As Kim had guessed, Nana didn't particularly want to discuss the methods by which Ron could have crossed town that quickly and appeared right behind them. She'd spent World War II on the wrong end of them.

Kim, on the other hand, had more questions. "Weren't you supposed to be helping my mom?" Was the first one.

"Only Felix really needed it," Ron replied. "Your mom thought it would be a good idea if we could keep the healing on the down low for a while. People react differently to Jesus than they do to Superman."

Kim nodded thoughtfully. "True. But why come all the way out here? I was gonna be back soon."

"You don't know that," Ron disagreed. "Besides, what kind of magician would I be if I didn't know when something weird was going on?"

"Magician?" Nana asked.

"Yamanouchi," Kim and Ron both said at the same time, but Kim was too distracted to say 'jinx'.

Nana just sighed. Those secrets had been worth people's _lives_ back in the war. "Well, come on, then. We don't have all night. Let's go in and see what this is all about before something _does_ sneak up on us."

"Right," Kim nodded. Then she turned, took a deep breath, and started up the front stairs.

----

They passed through the front door and into the unlit front hall with their weapons drawn.

"So what are we looking for?" Ron asked.

"You did hear me say I don't know, right?"

"Oh. Right. So where should we – "

"I've been here as many times as you have, Ron."

"Right."

"You shouldn't be here."

All three of them spun and pointed their weapons through the doorway to the front room. A less-than-intimidating tableau, considering that all an onlooker would see was an old lady holding a plastic laser pistol, a teenage girl raising her hand, and a teenage boy pointing a katana at someone twenty feet away.

But the man in the front room didn't see them anyway. He was sitting in an armchair, looking out a bay window at the front of the house, and he didn't turn when he spoke:

"You shouldn't be here," he repeated. "It's dangerous. You should go to Smarty Mart. It's safer there. They have people and lights and guns. Maybe they can protect you. I can't protect you. I can't protect anyone."

The voice was flat and inflectionless, but they still recognized it. They'd only heard it once or twice, but that last time had been extremely memorable.

The man in the armchair was superintendent Stuart Burlson.

----

"Is _this_ what we came here for?" Ron asked disgustedly.

"I…I _guess_ so."

"So what do we do with it?"

"I could kill him for you, dear," Nana offered.

Once, Kim would have been shocked by that. Times had changed.

"No thanks, Nana." She said. "Not yet, anyway. I have another idea." She started forward, then paused and turned to Ron. "He threw you out, too," she said. "I don't think the lead is mine to just take in this sitch."

"You can have it anyway," he said. "Whichever way you want to take it, I'm right there with you."

Kim smiled and squeezed his hand, then turned back to her task.

She crossed the room and sat down in the window seat, facing Burlson and blocking his view. Only then did he turn his attention to her.

"Oh," He said dully. "It's you."

When last Kim had seen him, Stuart Burlson had been a strutting, crowing, puffed-up little bantam of a man.

Now he seemed…reduced, somehow. Shrunken. Maybe it was because the "puffed-up" part was gone: his small frame was no longer infused with its previous aggressive energy. He looked pale and tired, with circles under his eyes that looked like bruises. His eyes themselves were dull and empty. He looked old. Exhausted. Lost.

He looked _broken_.

"Yes," Kim said evenly. "It's me."

"Good."

She waited for him to say more, but instead, he just dropped his eyes to the carpet and fell silent.

"Why is that good?" She asked at last. "If I remember right, you were pretty glad to see us go."

He raised his head, and to his credit, he met her eyes steadily. "I was. I thought you were a spoiled, reckless delinquent who attracted more trouble than you could ever stop, set a dangerous example for your fellow students, and got away with it all because you were a celebrity."

Ron and Nana bristled, but Kim showed no sign of a reaction as he went on.

"I thought that by getting rid of you, I wouldn't just be eliminating a bad element from the school, I'd be setting…no, _making_ an example: no one is above the law. No one can get away with it forever. The only real choice is to follow the rules and obey the proper authorities. I thought that if I could drive that message into their thick teenage skulls, I could turn Middleton High into the kind of place that didn't _need_ some grandstanding hero." He paused, his eyes no longer dull – now they were desperate and wild. "I thought that if I could bring order, safety and stability would naturally follow. If no one was bringing or making trouble, there wouldn't _be_ any. It was all for the greater good, you see? I could set things _right_."

"How'd that work out for you, dude?" Ron sneered.

Burlson's head dropped again, and he fell silent for a long moment.

"It came anyway," he said at last. "Even without a 'troublemaker', even with me running things the way I wanted them run, it came anyway. All of the systems, all of the rules, all of the proper authorities…none of them were enough. They couldn't stop it. _I _couldn't stop it. We needed something more." He raised his head. "We needed you."

"And him," Kim said, pointing at Ron.

Burlson glanced over his shoulder to where Ron was standing, arms crossed and glowering.

"And him," he nodded. Then he turned back to Kim. "But you weren't here. We needed you, and you weren't here. Because of me. I watched it all come crashing down around me, and I knew it was all my fault, but it didn't touch me." He swallowed hard, and his eyes started to glisten as his authoritarian reserve finally started to break. "It _never_ touched me. The monsters came and the ravers started rioting, but _they _never touched me either. It's like they knew that I'd helped them. Like they knew I was their friend."

He buried his face in his hands, but Kim just continued to look at him dispassionately, as if she was contemplating a job that she'd really rather not have to do.

When she finally did speak, it startled even Ron: "Sheesh, ego much?"

Burlson raised his red-rimmed eyes from his hands and stared at her in shock.

"The world is ending and it's all my fault," she mocked. "Sorry to tell you – actually, no, I'm not – but you don't have that kind of power."

"What? No, of course – I didn't – "

Kim ignored him and pressed on. "See, here's what gets me about your little speech. You were all about the 'greater good' of Middleton High and 'setting things right' when that meant throwing your weight around and kicking us out – "

"That's how it generally works, dear," Nana interrupted. "When someone's talking about the greater good, they're talking about how it's for the greater good that theybe in charge. And let me tell you, every time I hear someone start talking about 'putting things right' – and I've heard it a lot – I wonder who's going to get it in the neck _this_ time."

Burlson had somehow managed to go paler than he already was. "What? But that wasn't…I'm not…I didn't…"

"Yes it was, yes you are, and yes you did," Kim interrupted. "And as one of the people who 'got it in the neck' for this round of 'the greater good', I'm not too impressed about how much you care."

Burlson stopped even trying to talk. He had no answers.

"Those students you claim to care about so much?" She pointed out the window. "They've been hiding out in Smarty Mart for days, fighting off those monsters and ravers you were talking about while you sat here, feeling sorry for yourself. You couldn't just _order_ the world and Middleton High to be as perfect as you think they should be, so boo-hoo, you won't do anything."

She leaned in close, her eyes boring into his. "There was a major attack today. They could have been wiped out while you sat here in your armchair. We drove them off, but Wannaweep isn't dead yet. Soon – maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day – something bad is going to come for those students. The question is: what will you do about it? How much do you _really _care?"

Burlson looked back at her, and there was something new in his eyes. Something that wasn't deadness, desperation, self-pity, or even anger (although there was plenty of that as well).

For the first time in his narrow, monochrome life, Stuart Burlson understood what heroes were really for.

"Take me back to your base and give me a damn gun."

Kim sat back and gave him a bleak smile, which quickly dropped off her face when something outside howled.

"Here," Nana said, pulling one of her pistols and handing it to him as growling came through the window. "I think they just figured out that you're not their friend anymore."

**Dredging Things Up**

The return to Smarty Mart was uneventful. The lake-things in Middleton had been largely wiped out in the attack on Smarty Mart, and the few that remained didn't have the numbers or the nerve to do anything to a well-armed party but snap and snarl from the shadows.

Burlson's welcome was as warm as could be expected – which was to say, glacial – but Kim's sanction protected him from any actual violence, and he didn't seem to care what people said, still less what they thought. But then, he never had.

Kim and Ron, on the other hand, were given a hero's welcome; but they begged off spending a great deal of time with their fans – who seemed a lot more numerous now than when they'd left. After all, it had been a long time since they'd had an evening with their families.

----

"Ron showed me that new trick you mentioned."

"So what did you think?"

"Interesting. _Very_ interesting. And very impressive. But it seems to have certain limitations."

"You mean that it healed Felix's arm just fine, but his legs stayed the way they were, right?"

"Exactly. You knew that's what would happen?"

"When we were at Yamanouchi, we discovered that it couldn't do much with scars."

"Oh, honey…"

"It's okay, mom. _I'm_ okay. I really am. I mean, sure, it sucks. But I had other things to worry about at the time, and I've had time to deal. I'm okay."

"It must have just about killed Ron."

"Just about."

----

(The Possible and Stoppable families sit clustered in their little corner of Smarty Mart. Nana and Mr. Stoppable sit in camp-chairs, but everyone else sits on the floor , most of them leaning back against walls or other immovable objects. Ron stands at a barbecue grill, creating wonders that really shouldn't be possible with it, while everyone else eats with relish. Surprisingly, everyone looks fresh-scrubbed)

Kim: I still can't believe that this place has shower rooms for the employees.

Joss: They had a livestock section, cuz. There's times when a shower's a thing you cain't do without.

Kim: I guess you're – wait. 'Had'?

Slim: We had to slaughter 'em. We didn't know how long the siege was gonna last, so we figured it was better to eat 'em than to feed 'em.

Kim (blanching a little as she looks at her steak): That makes sense.

Joss (grinning): City folk. Don't like to think where your food comes from, do ya?

James: You should be grateful. Our squeamishness puts money in your pocket.

Slim: Good point, Squirt.

Ron: Anybody want more?

(Many noises of satisfied declining. Ron takes the last of his work of the grill, turns it off, and goes to sit by Kim)

Nana (sighs contentedly): (To Mrs. Stoppable) Is it always like this, Ruth?

Mrs. Stoppable: No. When he has access to a real kitchen, it's even _better_. I've really missed it.

Nana: I bet you have. (To Ron) And you say that you _like_ cooking?

Ron: It's almost as much fun as eating.

Rufus (wearing a tiny chef's hat and "Kiss the Cook" apron): Uh huh.

Nana: That does it. Kimberly, if you don't marry this boy, I will.

(_The Tweebs and most of the adults laugh, while Kim clutches Ron defensively and Ron turns pale but tries not to be rude by looking panicked. Mrs. Stoppable, on the other hand, frowns_)

Mrs. Stoppable: Oh, no. I don't think I could allow that.

(_Ron looks grateful, but only for a second_)

Nana: Hear that, Ronald? We'll have to elope.

(_Ron turns pale again_)

Nana: (To Mrs. Stoppable) Why not?

Mrs. Stoppable: Because when Ron gets married, there _will_ be pressure for grandchildren. (_arch look at James and Slim_) And I'd rather those grandchildren be younger myself.

----

It had been a long day for all of them. Kim and Ron, in particular, were both jet-lagged and seriously short on sleep. So once their bellies were full of Ron's cooking, the predictable happened.

----

"Kimmie," Colleen Possible said softly, shaking her daughter.

"Mmm?"

"Kimmie."

Kim raised her head from Ron's shoulder, but couldn't quite seem to open her eyes. "Mmm? Mom?"

"Come on, honey. Let's get you to bed."

"Bed? There are beds here?"

"Well…we have a sleeping bag for you."

"Oh. Okay."

Colleen Possible helped her daughter to her feet. Beside her, Roger Stoppable did the same for his son.

"Come on," Roger coaxed. "This way."

With a vaguely zombie-like grunt, Ron obeyed.

So did Kim.

"Where are you going, Kimmie-cub?" Her father called. "We're camped over here."

Kim and Ron's eyes both flew open.

"Right," Kim said, trying not to squeak. "Just got a little confused. Over here it is."

----

Once in her sleeping bag, Kim took a few moments to hyperventilate over her narrow escape. That had been an act of klutziness equal to Ron at his worst. Or even Drakken. She would guard against repeating it as if immediate death would follow – because it very well might. Good thing she could plead semiconsciousness.

But as the initial terror faded and her exhaustion started to reassert its dominance, she started to think of other things, even as her mind slowly slipped into soft, warm darkness.

She missed Ron. She even missed the way that he sprawled and took up most of the bed.

She wished that she could have borrowed a shirt to sleep in – but she might as well come right out and tell her parents what they were doing if she did. As much as she'd tried not to think about it, she'd figured out why her mom insisted on sleeping in her dad's nightshirts during her stay at Yamanouchi.

Barring that, she wished they'd at least had a chance to switch pillows. Anything to have Ron's smell with her. Pandaroo just didn't cut it for comfort anymore.

That reminded her. Just as her thoughts started to fade away entirely, she felt a twinge of fear:

_What if the nightmares come back? Not that they ever went away, but it was so much better having Ron with me…_

But it had been a long, hard day, and that was her last conscious thought for a while.

----

Twenty feet away, Ron breathed a sigh of relief, and then fell asleep instantly. He hadn't slept _at_ _all_ on the way over, and besides he was better at the fine art of crashing than Kim was.

----

3 AM.

"John?"

The call wasn't loud, but people slept pretty lightly in Middleton these days. Tired as they were, the Possibles came awake at the first sound of that voice.

"John?" It called again, more frantic this time. "John, are you there?"

"Mim?" Now the Stoppables – who had only stirred before – came awake as a second voice sounded in their midst.

"Kimmiecub?" James Possible queried, turning a flashlight in her direction. "What are you doing?"

She didn't seem to hear him.

She'd climbed out of her sleeping bag, and now crouched on it like a sprinter getting into the blocks. Her eyes were distant and glazed, as if she was sleepwalking, and her head was cocked to listen.

"Mim? Can you hear me?"

Her face lit up. "John!"

"Mim!"

"Ronald?" Roger Stoppable asked, blinking and trying to focus his unspectacled eyes on his son. Unlike Kim, who was coiled for action, Ron was standing and looking around vaguely, as if lost. A worried Rufus poked at his ankle, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

"John, where are you?"

"Mim! Over here!"

With a joyful cry, Kim bounded across their "campsite" – paying no attention to anyone else, yet somehow managing to avoid stepping on any of them – and swept him up in a fierce hug.

"Oh, Mim," Ron said, wrapping her in a hug of his own. "It's been so long."

"Too long."

"I never believed what they said about you. Never. Commissioner Barkin ended up firing me because I wouldn't let it lie, but I didn't care, I – "

"I never found another friend like you," Kim interrupted, resting her head against his. "All my life, I tried to find something like what I had to leave behind, but I never found it. I never stopped missing you."

She hugged him tighter and their voices dropped to murmurs and coos as their families stood back and stared at them in confusion.

"What. On Earth. Is going on here?" James Possible demanded. No one answered. Instead, his sons had another question.

"Nana?" Jim started.

"What's wrong?" Tim finished.

"Something" being "wrong" with Nana outweighed Kim and Ron's bizarre and confused but apparently harmless sleepwalking. Clan Possible promptly turned to see what had happened to their matriarch.

Nana Possible didn't seem to notice, as she stood staring at Kim and Ron, her hands pressed tight over her mouth and tears running from her eyes.

"Somethin' wrong, ma?" Slim asked, showing more worry than he had during the previous day's attack.

A few feet away, Kim raised her head from Ron's shoulder, looking around and blinking. "Nana?" she asked in a tone of voice much more familiar than the one she'd been using.

"Mim."

Then she turned back to Ron, her eyes glazing again.

"Oh, John, I thought we'd have more time."

"The time was never ours, Mim. We'll get our chance." Then, suddenly he looked sheepish, and he disengaged an arm from the hug to rub the back of his neck. "But…do you think…before we go…we never…before…"

Without a word, Kim pulled him in tightly and kissed him. Just like she'd been kissing him when they were alone for the past month.

James Possible's eyes bulged out of his head. Joss's went so wide that they almost did, too, but for entirely different reasons. Meanwhile, the Tweebs turned away, making noises of disgust, Ruth Stoppable and – surprisingly – Slim just looked startled, and Colleen Possible and Roger Stoppable had to visibly resist breaking out into cheers.

And Nana's tears redoubled.

Then Kim and Ron both blinked, broke the kiss, and drew back to stare at each other in shock. Then they looked around at their audience.

"Oh, God." Kim.

"Not again." Ron.

The various expressions – even James's glare – were replaced with concern.

"Again?" Colleen asked.

Kim sighed. "Yeah."

The two teenagers broke their clinch, though they did keep ahold of each other's hand, and turned to face their families. Ron rubbed the back of his neck again.

"We've been having these…dreams," Kim began. "Ever since the first day of school. Bad dreams."

"Understatement," Ron declared. "They've been full-blown, category five, nine-on-the-richter scale nightmares. And now it's getting even _worse_, what with the sleepwalking and the – "

"Sensei was able to help us, a little," Kim said, trying to think of a suitably vague explanation of how he did so. 'Meditative techniques' sounded good. "But now…" She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair in a gesture that was remarkably similar to Ron's neck-rubbing. "It just feels like we're going crazy."

"You're not," Nana interrupted. They turned to her and she stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, pressing on before they could ask any questions. "You never met your great-great aunt Mim, did you? No, of course not. Your _father_ never did. But when I was young, she was my hero."

All of her descendants blinked and stared at her. Nana had a hero? Nana was _young_? Not surprises – not really – but things they had simply never pictured.

"From the time I first met your grandfather, way back in grammar school, the Possibles always treated me like family."

Another double take. Yes, of _course_ there was a time that Nana hadn't been a Possible. Still…

"I don't think they knew I would eventually _become_ family. They treated all of Lenny's friends that way. Anyway, they were always telling me – all of us, really, but especially me – that we could do anything. But Mim was the one who actually made it possible." She paused, her nostalgic smile fading. "After she was framed, Mim lived on favors. Just like you do with your rides, Kimberly. But she used one of those favors to help _me_: she set up a certain 'boarding school' opportunity for me, and a 'scholarship'."

"With the Shaolin Monks."

Nana nodded. "It was years before my parents found out. Anyway, my point is, I wouldn't be who I am today if it wasn't for her. So you can imagine that my memories of her are pretty vivid. And you…"

She paused, and her eyes filled with tears again. When she spoke again, it was very softly: "And you were just her. Your gestures, your stance, your tone of voice…every detail. You were her. A woman you've never met. I don't know what's happening to you, sweetie, but I can tell you this: you're not going crazy, and you're not dreaming."

"Um…excuse me."

The elder Stoppables jumped, but the Possibles just calmly turned to face the new arrival.

"What's the sitch, Wade?" Kim asked, perhaps slightly more impatiently than usual.

"I hate to interrupt…whatever's going on," Wade apologized. "But I really think you should come see this."

"Come see what?" Ron asked. Between the 3 AM and the important clue to the freakiness that was just emerging, he _so _didn't want to get sidetracked right now.

"Shego sent you a message."


	17. Shoring Up Supports: Messages

"Shego?"

"A message?"

"To us?"

"That's what I said. Now, I think you'd better – "

"Please tell me you mean that _Sheila_ has some important info for us, and that GJ _let_ her use their equipment to send it."

Silence.

"No. It's not Sheila. I'm not even sure I can call her 'Shego' anymore. You'd better come see. But…guys…it's bad. Real bad."

----

Kim and Ron sat before Wade's computer array as he called up the message. For once, they weren't his only audience. Jim and Tim had been ordered to keep their distance and turn their surveillance devices off, and, unbelievably, it looked like they actually intended to obey. Maybe they'd seen enough in the last few weeks to be uninterested in seeing Wade's definition of "real bad". Just to be sure, Joss (upset at being excluded but much more likely to follow orders) had been told to keep an eye on them.

The rest of their families had insisted on being there to watch the message with them.

Though they couldn't think of any way to say so, neither teen hero was happy about that. Nana (and, to a lesser degree, Slim), as a leader of the defenses, might need all the info she could get, and Mom/Mrs. Dr. P had an investment in knowing what Shego was up to, but why were the rest of them there? They'd rarely (in Ron's family's case, _never_) been involved in missions before. Why choose _now_? Did they actually _want_ to watch? Or did they just feel they had to?

What weirded them out even more was the seating arrangements. They were seated at the computers, while their elders stood (well, Nana had a seat) behind them and looked over their shoulders. It was like their own parents were their lieutenants. First Sensei and now their families – everyone who'd been in charge of their lives before all this started was now treating them like leaders. Had they really changed that much?

Wade hit "Play", and Shego appeared on the screens. And it _was_ Shego, not Sheila: her skin was ivory and her hair was ebony, both with the familiar green tint. Her eyes were green again, though there _was _something strange about them. And they weren't the _only_ strange thing, either. She was dressed in neither the green sweatsuit they'd last seen, nor her fighting outfit, but a green-and-black cape and some sort of militaristic, generalissimo's uniform.

Then she began to talk, and all of their other worries were quickly forgotten.

**The Message**

_(Waist-up shot of Shego, who waves cheerfully)_

Shego: Hey, Kimmie! I guess you're wondering what I'm doing back in town. Well, it looks like your buddy Dr. Director got a little desperate – either her, or one of the people who are _really _in charge. Whichever, they decided to braintap me, and the sniveling worm that used to occupy this body dropped trou and grabbed her ankles just like she always did when someone told her it was for the greater good. Only, oops!

_Holds out her hands, as if to say 'Here I am'_

They unlocked the door and let me back in. That's right: the Bitch is back. And since I'm in the neighborhood, I thought I'd give you a call, and let you know what I'm up to.

_She points offscreen, and the picture suddenly changes._

----

_Team Go sits around a table in one of the GJ common rooms. Hego examines his cards carefully while his brothers look various degrees of bored and annoyed. _

Hego: Go fish.

_Mego sighs and takes a card from the deck._

Mego: Took you long enough.

Hego: This is a game of _strategy_, little brother! You can't rush.

Wego 1: You took _five_ minutes

Wego 2: To figure out if any of your _three_ cards

Wego 1: Was a Jack.

Mego: That's not strategy, that's sleepwalking.

_Hego puffs up to answer, but alarms start sounding before he can. He leaps to his feet, sending his chair skidding away across the floor, and charges _through _the table to get to the door. The Wegos follow at a run, but manage not to damage any furniture on the way. Mego just sighs, rolls his eyes, and gets up._

_Sound of running feet outside the door. One of the Wegos hits a button, causing the door to slide open before Hego can charge right through it. Outside, GJ agents run past with their weapons drawn. _

Hego: Citizens! May we be of assistance?

Passing Agent (_Pausing to wave them back into the room_): No! Stay right where you are! We don't –

_A bolt of green fire blasts the Agent out of sight. _

_Slowly, looking stunned, Hego and the Wegos back away from the door. _

_Shego enters, still smiling the same gently amused smile that she did in the hallway outside the braintap room._

_She's still naked, but now looks mostly human again. An occasional green flame dances across her body or through her hair, but she no longer walks in the center of a firestorm._

_The door closes behind her, and she casually turns and blasts the locking mechanism. Team Go jumps, but she turns back to them just as calm and casual as before._

Shego: There. Now we can have some privacy.

_Her smile becomes broad and motherly, and she holds her arms out to them._

Shego: My boys…it's been so long.

_None of the Gomez brothers move._

Hego: Shego…(_latches onto the first thing he can think of_) Why are you _naked_?

_His brothers all stare at him incredulously. Shego's smile fades for a moment, then becomes a challenging smirk._

Shego: What's the matter?

_Drops her arms and starts to run her hands slowly and suggestively down her sides._

Shego: Don't you like my body, Hector? I'm still getting used to it myself, but I didn't see a reason to wear all of those silly coverings when I don't need the protection.

Hego: Didn't see a reason? Shego, there are children present!

_The Wegos glare at him._

Wego 1: Hello, Hector!

Wego 2: Sixteen!

_Shego's grin just broadens as she takes a step forward – answered by three hurried steps back from Hego – and starts rubbing her thighs._

Shego: I've fucked my own children before, Hector. They've sired gods and monsters upon me. I've never had brothers, but why should they be any different?

Hego: Shego! That's disgusting!

Mego (_Holding up a hand_): Have to agree with him there. For once.

Hego: And besides, you don't _have_ any children! (_Aside, to Wego 1 (Jaime?)_) Does she?

_Jaime shakes his head._

_Shego does, too, her expression one of fond exasperation._

Shego: You still have no idea who or what you're dealing with. (_The smile drops from her face_) But you're about to learn. I tried to do this the easy way, but –

_Her hands catch fire and she starts forward. But this time, Hego steps forward with his arms wide, blocking her path._

Hego: Hold it right there, Shego.

Shego: Don't cut in line, Hector. You'll get your turn.

_She starts forward again, but Hego moves to block her path again. _

Hego: I mean it, Shego. You're not going near them.

_Shego's eyes start to glow again, and her teeth suddenly look much sharper. A deep growl – a sound no human could make – rumbles up from her chest. A wisp of smoke rises from her nostrils. All of the Gomez brothers _except _Hego take a step back._

Shego: Don't be a damn fool, boy.

Hego: Maybe I haven't been the best big brother in the world, Shego, but I'm not going to let you –

_Shego's eyes suddenly erupt with green flame._

Shego (_Shriek_): Shut up!

_A blast of green fire hurls Hego across the room and slams him into a wall. Shego strides after him, knocking her other brothers out of the way, and clamps a flaming hand down on top of his head. He drops to his knees, screaming and writhing and trying uselessly to pry her hand loose._

_The other members of Team Go lunge forward, their powers already activated: Mego is eight feet tall, and there are four Wegos._

Mego: Let the big idiot go, Shego!

_Without releasing Hego, Shego turns back to them and roars out a seething cone of green fire. They collapse to the floor, screaming and burning. Mego shrinks back to normal size, and the twins' duplicates quickly burn to ash. _

_Dismissing them, Shego turns back to Hego, her face twisted into a demonic snarl, her teeth once again huge and sharklike._

Shego: Do you understand now, Hector? (_She_ s_hakes his head and he screams louder_) Do you get it? You don't _let_ me do anything. I'm stronger than you. I've _always_ been stronger than you. Sheila could have _destroyed_ you back in the day, but no! The pathetic little bitch actually let you _name_ her! And when even that wasn't enough for you, she _ran away_ rather than fight back! (_Sneers_) She didn't want to hurt you. That's why the Drakken's lackey let him call her by _your_ name: the part of her that was Sheila wanted the name that _you_ gave her to be besmirched instead of the name that your parents did, and the part of her that was _me_ didn't want anything to do with Sheila's weakness. But no more! (_Her hand clamps down, drawing another scream from Hego_) Do you hear me? No more! You don't get to name me, you arrogant child. (_Her flame flashes down his body and she releases her grip, allowing him to collapse in a burning heap_) I'm older than names.

_A moment of silence as she stands in the midst of her burning brothers. Then, one by one, the green pyres gutter and go out, and the male members of Team Go rise to their feet. _

_Their eyes shine with their respective Glow, and each has been…changed. The twins grin through razor-sharp teeth, and Mego's form seems disturbingly unstable, as if some part of it is always changing, and the rest is about to._

_Hego has been completely transformed. He looms at least seven feet high, and is even more freakishly muscular than before. Huge, tusklike teeth overfill his mouth, and his hands are twisted into huge, blue-glowing sledgehammers. Bone ridges and spikes decorate his body: his knuckles, his knees, his shoulders, his elbows, an armor plate over his heart, a casing over his spine. He's become a living engine of destruction. _

_Shego beams maternally, her face once again normal._

Shego: There, my brave boys. Was that so bad?

_They shake their heads, making negative noises._

Shego: Good. Now. If names are so important in this time and place…(_grins maliciously at Hego_) then I shall name us. You shall be Abaddon. (_she pats Hego on the head, then walks to the Wegos and takes them both by a shoulder_) You shall be (_kisses them each on the cheek_) Legion, and you (_she releases one of the Wegos…the Legions…and takes Mego's hand_) shall be Behemoth. And I…

_She pauses. Considers it_.

Shego: I shall take the name that silly old man called me. I shall be Tiamat.

_The smile drops from her face._

Tiamat: Now kill them all.

----

Kim's hand shot out and clicked on the mouse, pausing the message.

Startled, the other members of the audience turned to look at her.

"Wade." She didn't turn to look at the young genius as she spoke.

"Kim?"

"I want you to go over and wait with my brothers."

"But Kim – "

Kim cut him off with a shake of her head. "No. I know you've probably seen this already. I don't care. I don't want you to see it again."

Wade started to protest, but Kim just looked at him.

Wade Load couldn't describe or name whatever it was that he saw in Kim Possible's eyes at that moment, except to say that he'd seen diluted versions of it in Dr. Director, Nana Possible, and Sensei. Only Ron could have told him what it was to see the Scarred Warrior looking out from Kim's eyes.

He got up and left without another word.

Once he was gone, Kim clicked the mouse again, and the message resumed its run.

----

_Tiamat reappears on-screen, once again wearing her generalissimo's uniform._

Tiamat: They did what I told them to do. They're good boys. It took a couple hours, though, so I'll just show you the highlight reel.

_She points offscreen again, and the screen changes again._

----

_A horde of Legion clones besieges a GJ barricade. Very few of the creatures bear any resemblance to Jesus and Jaime Gomez anymore: some skitter on arachnoid legs and strike with scorpion stingers; others drip venom from fanged mouths and slash with their claws; still others ooze along on sluglike bellies and lash out with barbed tentacles; while others fly on mantalike wings._

_The Global Justice agents fight hard, and the Legion creatures fall one by one and in their dozens. The unnatural things leave no bodies behind: some disintegrate and swirl up and away as ash, even though there's no breeze. Others dissolve into pools of slime that ooze away into the nearest cracks and crevices as if they were alive themselves, leaving scored and pitted metal behind. _

_In the end, it doesn't make a bit of difference. Legion is endless. The mutant clones keep coming and coming until they finally overrun the barricade. The lucky agents die quickly, stripped to the bone like cattle dropped in a piranha-swarmed river. The unlucky ones are still screaming when the scene changes._

----

"Okay, time to change the channel."

Ron reached for the mouse, but Kim caught his wrist. He looked at her in surprise, which turned to concern when he saw the tears running down her face.

"Kim?"

She shook her head and moved his hand away from the mouse. "No," she said softly. "I need to see it all."

----

_A group of lab-coated scientists try to escape Behemoth._

_He's only as tall as the ceiling in the lab allows – about fifteen feet – so he can't step on them like insects, as he could if he was in the fifty-foot high guise that smashed the Go City Elementary School, as he clearly wishes he could. Still, it only takes two or three stomps before the frail, five-foot-nothing old man who tripped as he tried to run is dripping off his boots._

_Few are fast enough to escape, given the length of Behemoth's strides. The acne-scarred girl who looks young enough to be working her way through college is hurled head-on into a steel bulkhead and slides down it, leaving a bloody smear behind. The overweight man with the salt-and-pepper beard crashes down onto a lab table and starts to scream as the contents of a dozen shattered bottles come in contact with an overturned bunsen burner, and engulf him in acidic fire._

_Not all _try _to escape. These are Global Justice agents, after all, and they're not helpless. A middle-aged woman with handsome features and iron-colored hair pulls a handgun out from under her labcoat and starts firing. _

_Behemoth stumbles backwards, knocking over equipment and spreading the fire as he roars and clutches at his wounded chest and gut. _

_Another scientist – a James-Bond-dashing man in his thirties – takes heart from this and pulls out his own sidearm._

_Before he can fire, Behemoth stops stumbling. He raises his head, grins, and straightens._

_The two scientists stare dumbstruck as an aspect of Behemoth's unlimited growth that no one had considered is revealed: his wounds close as they watch._

_The scientists stumble backwards, still gaping. Behemoth's grin broadens, becomes more vicious. _

Behemoth (_a deep, clotted voice that sounds nothing like Mego_): Hey, bitch, ever seen _Alien_?

_Still grinning, he takes a few steps and dives for them…then disappears._

_The male scientist continues to gape, but the female scientist suddenly drops her gun and clutches her throat, then her chest. Then she bends double, gagging and retching, before finally collapsing to the floor. _

_The male scientist drops to his knees beside her and desperately tries to figure out how to help as she thrashes and screams. Suddenly, her body arches, nearly bending double _backwards_, and her face freezes in a rictus of agony._

_There's an explosion of blood and viscera, and a full-sized Miguel Gomez is left standing in her burst ribcage, grinning down at the male scientist._

_The male scientist scrambles to his feet – slipping once in the gore – and runs._

_Behemoth doesn't pursue. His grin just widens, and his teeth are very sharp. He raises a suddenly-clawed hand, and his fingers shoot out after the fleeing scientist like harpoons. The man is impaled, but he's still alive and gasping as Behemoth starts to reel him back in._

_----_

_The Global Justice Command Room. Dr. Director and Will Du stand with their weapons drawn, watching the main doors and hurrying personnel along as they climb into escape pods._

_Something hits the main doors, and the entire room shakes. The doors bulge inward, and dust drifts down from the ceiling. _

_Will and Dr. Director push the fleeing agents to move faster._

_Another blow hits the doors, and they bulge in further. The room shakes more violently, and every computer screen cracks._

_Dr. Director fires a shot into the air and shouts an order, and the other agents abandon all semblance of an orderly retreat as they start running and diving for the escape pods. Du and Director cover their flight, backing toward the escape pods with their weapons trained on the door._

_A third blow. The screens _shatter_ and the door buckles inward, but doesn't quite collapse. _

_The last of the command crew dives into an escape pod and is gone. _

Will Du: You go on, I'll hold him –

_Dr. Director doesn't even bother to argue; she just smacks him across the back of the head with her gun butt, knocking him cold. She drags him to an escape pod, dumps him in, hits the launch button, and starts for one of the remaining pods. If she notices that all has gone quiet, she doesn't pause to ponder it. _

_She only makes it a few steps before the ground erupts beneath her feet._

_Abaddon._

_She tries to leap out of the way, but he already has her by the ankles. He holds her that way for a moment, dangling her at arms' length, a malevolently stupid grin on his face, like a vicious child with a new pet to abuse. Perhaps he expects her to squirm and try to get away for his entertainment._

_Instead, she takes her gun in both hands, points up, and shoots him in the face. From the explosion, it's one of the rounds that would have taken his head off when he was Hego._

_Abaddon stumbles backward, roaring, and Dr. Director tries to kick free. _

_It almost works._

_But then Abaddon tightens his grip – to the sound of crunching bone – and she opens her mouth to scream, but she doesn't have time before his shoulders surge and he tears her in two._

----

Tiamat (_Exaggerated, fake wince_): Wow, that last one was a little over the top, wasn't it? Nasty. I think little Hector might have a few problems with women. Or at least ones that shoot him in the face. (_Drops fake seriousness and grins_) Oh, well. You're probably wondering where I was when all of this was going on.

----

_Drakken – currently his original, medium blue – sits curled into a fetal ball on his bed, rocking and covering his ears as the lights flicker and the sound of explosions and screams come from outside his cell. _

_Slowly, the sounds fade, and he dares to raise his head from his knees and peek._

_He lets out what can only be described as a girly shriek and scuttles into the corner of his bed, going back into a defensive tuck._

_Tiamat stands at the door of his cell, once again smiling benevolently. She's no longer naked, having wrapped herself in a blanket._

Tiamat: Hello, Drew.

Drakken (_raises his head just enough to peek over his knees_): Sh-Sh-Shego?

Tiamat: Not exactly.

_She blasts the control panel beside his cell, and the force field across his cell door falls. He shrieks again and goes back into his tuck, trembling violently. She calmly crosses the room, sits down beside him, and waits for him to look up. When he finally does – and sees her sitting there – he shrieks again and leaps clear across the room to cower in the opposite corner._

_With a sigh of exasperation, Tiamat gets up and follows him._

Drakken (_covering his head with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut tight_): Pleasedon'tkillmepleasedon'tkillmepleasedon'tkillmeplease -

Tiamat (_standing over him_): (_Another sigh_) I'm not going to kill you, Drew.

_Drakken dares to peek up at her._

Drakken: You're not?

Tiamat: Not yet.

_Drakken whimpers_.

Tiamat: I'm going to give you a chance to –

_Drakken drops forward to his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, his head bowed._

Drakken: I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'm –

Tiamat: Shut up.

Drakken: -mmp.

Tiamat: I'm not giving you a chance to apologize or beg, Drew. Usually, it would be entertaining, but I'm too busy for that right now. No, what I'm doing is giving you a chance to explain yourself.

Drakken: Explain?

Tiamat: Don't be dense. You betrayed me, Drew. You're my Judas. _She reaches down and caresses his cheek. He flinches away from it._ Come. Tell us why.

Drakken (_struggling to regain some dignity – these may be his last moments, after all_): I-I'm not a-a Judas, Sh-Shego. There were no pieces of silver involved.

Tiamat (_thoughtfully_): That's true, isn't it? You gained nothing for betraying me except a cell of your own. How did that happen? Did they trick you again?

Drakken: No.

_He takes a deep breath, rises to his feet, and looks her in the eye. She raises her eyebrows, impressed._

Drakken: I thought you were sick, Shego. I thought you were dying. And the only way I could think of to help you –

Tiamat: - was to betray me?

Drakken: - was to get you to Global Justice's doctors and medical facilities. And because I had more data on your condition than anyone else, I _needed_ to be here to help.

_She gazes at him long and thoughtfully. Finally, she comes to a decision._

Tiamat (_holding out her arms_): Come here, Drew.

_He takes a tentative step forward, holding out his arms stiffly._

_Tiamat catches hold of him and pulls him into a deep kiss._

_But the tongue she inserts into his mouth is forked, and dripping with green flame._

_His eyes fly open and he screams into her mouth, but she doesn't let him go. He pushes against her, feebly, once or twice, but then his limbs go rigid and he starts twitching and jittering as if he was being electrocuted._

_She doesn't let him go._

_Green fire shoots from his eyes, and he screams louder._

_She doesn't let him go. _

_Sparks leap from the back of his neck, and a wisp of vaporized metal and plastic rises from where his control chip had been. He _shrieks

_She doesn't let him go._

_A darker blue appears around his eyes and his mouth, then spreads across his skin like a stain, getting ever-deeper as it does._

_Drew Lipsky disappears into the midnight blue._

_After a few moments, the fire dies, and Drakken goes limp. Tiamat releases him from her kiss and lowers him to the floor. _

_A moment after that, Drakken's eyes blink open. He sits up and peels off one of his gloves, staring at his new skin color in wonder. _

Tiamat: I forgive you, Drew Lipsky. You betrayed me out of loyalty – a paradox I can appreciate. And in the end, it only hastened my coming. I have studied the currents of fate for a very long time – I think I recognize it when I see it.

_Drakken's face shines with pure adoration as he clutches the hem of the blanket wrapped around her._

Drakken: …thank you…

Tiamat: I have an offer for you, Drew Lipsky. You have spent years calling yourself "Drakken" without ever really understanding what it meant. There have been other Drakkens, Drew Lipsky. And most have believed themselves to be the masters. But you know better, don't you?

Drakken (_Raising the blanket to his lips to kiss it_): Yes, mistress.

Tiamat: So you shall be the greatest of them all. You shall be the Drakken of this age…the _final_ Drakken. Is that something you would like?

_He finally dares to look up at her, and now the adoration on his face has been joined by utter gratitude and religious exaltation. _

Drakken: Yes, Shining One. Oh, yes.

Tiamat (_Turning toward the door_): Then come…Drakken. We have work to do.

----

_Tiamat reappears on the screen_.

Tiamat: So there you have it. I have everything I need: my lieutenants, my army, even my armorer and high priest. Now, you have to be wondering: why am I telling _you_ this? Why am I blowing one of my advantages by telling you what I'm doing, like a Bond villain or Drew on a bad day. (_Thoughtful pause_) Or even a good one, really.

The reason is simple: I don't _need _that advantage. There's nothing that you can do to stop me anymore. You've become irrelevant, little girl – an inconvenience, at best.

But I'd rather not have to deal with inconveniences.

So consider this a warning: stay out of my way, and you'll live a little longer, and die a little easier.

_Her eyes suddenly turn into orbs of obsidian black, and her teeth go very sharp. When next she speaks, her voice is overlain by another, much deeper and speaking in a language that has no resemblance to English, or any other language that humans might speak. _

God is coming, Kimmiekins.

_And then everything is normal again, with Tiamat Shego-smirking at the screen._

Better stick out your tongue.

**Hidden Messages**

"Kim?"

The voice intruded on Kim's fugue, and she realized that she was watching Wade's screensaver. She – they – had been staring at the screen in blank shock for that long.

She looked around as if she was just waking up in a strange room, and saw that the rest of the audience was in a similar state. Small wonder. They'd all been through a lot in the last few months, but it hadn't prepared them for the horror they'd just witnessed. Only Nana had ever seen anything like it, and that had been a long time ago.

"Kim."

Startled again, Kim turned to the speaker.

"Wade?" She asked dazedly. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go over with my brothers."

"You did," he said. "But the message ended fifteen minutes ago, and there's more you need to see."

"More?" Roger Stoppable moaned as the rest of the audience started to shake themselves out of their stupors.

"Maybe you shouldn't watch, Dad," Ron said gently.

Kim, however, wasn't paying attention to those who'd watched Tiamat's message with her. Instead, her eyes narrowed toward her resident genius.

"Wade, what did you do?"

"Shego…_Tiamat_ didn't show you everything," Wade said, climbing back into his seat. "Maybe she really did just want to show you a 'highlights reel', but maybe there were some things she didn't want you to see."

Understanding dawned. "You went back in," Kim said in soft dismay. "You hacked into GJ's security system. Oh, Wade, why would you do that?"

"Bet I can guess," Ron muttered.

She shot him a look that had him raising his hands in surrender, then turned back to Wade.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said, her voice stern this time.

"Maybe not. But it had to be done. I was too late with my warning once. Never again."

He met her eyes defiantly, and this time he didn't back down.

"Called it," Ron said quietly.

Kim turned her glare on him, but this time he just met and held it with the slightest hints of a strange, saddish smile on his face. She turned back to Wade, but found him still standing with his arms crossed and his eyes defiant.

She gave up with a shake of her head and a growl of frustration. "Is _everyone_ blaming themselves?" She demanded. "After I'm done watching this, I'm going to slap you silly and then hug you until you can't breathe."

"She'll do it, too," Ron piped up.

"Uh-huh," Rufus agreed, nodding and then pointing at Ron.

Kim pointedly ignored them both. Wade smiled, but like so many smiles lately, it was bleak and awful. "I look forward to it," he said.

"Just hit 'Play', please and thank you."

----

_Monkey Fist stands at the door of his cell, pressing his hands against the force field. More screams and explosions come from outside, and orange-suited prisoners flee past. Some we recognize: one is Duff Killigan. Another is – _was_ – Adrena Lynn. _

_We finally see what Shego did to her last spring: there's a deep, livid, hand-shaped burn scar in the middle of her face. Her eyes have been spared, but her nose has been melted flat. _

_But we only catch a glimpse of her before she flees offscreen._

Monkey Fist (_Pounding on the force field and shouting_): Let me out, you idiots! Open the door! Open the –

_Tiamat suddenly appears in front of the cell door. She apparently hasn't found her blanket yet. _

Monkey Fist: Shego! (_Pause_) Why are you naked?

_Tiamat sighs and rolls her eyes._

Tiamat: I begin to see the need for the coverings.

Monkey Fist: Whatever. Just let! Me! Out!

_With an unreadable expression, Tiamat touches the other side of the doorframe – presumably the keypad for the force field. There's a sudden flare of green light, and a sizzling, crackling sound, and the force field falls. Monkey Fist starts forward._

Monkey Fist: Thank you, She –

_Tiamat reaches out and gives him a gentle push that sends him flying across the cell and into the wall._

Tiamat: I didn't say you could leave.

_Monkey Fist shakes his head to clear it and picks himself up, snarling._

Monkey Fist: And you think you can stop me, do you?

_A wall of green-and-black fire flares across the cell door, filling it completely._

Tiamat: Yes.

_Monkey Fist cringes away from the flames, shielding his face with his arm._

Tiamat: Sorry, Tarzan. DNAmy and Killigan and Dementor…they don't matter. Adrena Lynn _really_ doesn't matter. But you do.

Monkey Fist: What do you mean 'I matter'? Not that I'm not flattered…

Tiamat: You shouldn't be. All that those others have to use against me are the toys you clever little apes have invented to amuse yourselves. Which means they have nothing. _You_, on the other hand, are a magician. A piss-poor one –

Monkey Fist: Ex_cuse_ me?

Tiamat (_Ignoring him_): But a magician nonetheless. Which means that you _could_ matter, if you weren't such a joke.

Monkey Fist (_Starting for her_): All right, that's –

_Tiamat's eyes flare, and a flaming hand is inches from his face before he can even see it coming._

Tiamat: I'm not done.

Monkey Fist: Right. Sorry to interrupt.

Tiamat: You don't matter because you have a different toy to play with than most of the children. You matter because this is all your fault.

Monkey Fist: _What's_ my fault?

Tiamat (_Gestures at everything in general with her free hand_): This! All of this is _your_ fuckup! When I sent the Magician to Norway, that was supposed to be their separation for this lifetime! And that would have been my knockout punch! With me as the Supreme One, I would have been able to slowly choke the life from this world while I waited for the temporal damage to do its job and cause the collapse of my prison. What does twenty years matter to me, especially when it would mean that the Magician and the Warrior would be separated by twenty years and an ocean?

_Tiamat starts to change as she grows angrier: her eyes start to glow brighter and brighter. Her teeth and talons grow sharper, and flames start to rise from her hair and shoulders._

Tiamat: But no! You had to mess up your pathetic little grab for power with the jade statues and allow the Magician to become a Mystic Monkey Master, so the Monkey Power did what he wanted it to do when the Tempus Simia idol broke, instead of shredding reality and setting me free like it should have! Now I have to deal with those two pests before I disinfect this worthless planet of you disgusting little microbes!

_By now, she has a blazing mane of green-black fire. Oddly, Monkey Fist seems to be growing _less _frightened as her display of power increases._

Monkey Fist (_Calmly_): Good lady, I assure you that I have no idea what you're talking about, or who this "Magician" is. However, I believe that there are two things that I can safely surmise.

Tiamat: Yes?

Monkey Fist: One (_holds up a finger_): You're not the Shego I know.

Tiamat (_Smirking_): Very good! Did you figure that out all by yourself?

Monkey Fist (_Ignoring her_): And two (_holds up a second finger_): I'm a dead man. Right?

_The smirk drops from Tiamat's face._

Tiamat: Very. I just thought I'd show you a bit more mercy than I'm going to show most of you insects: you get an explanation and a few moments to prepare yourself before you get swatted.

Monkey Fist: Very generous.

Tiamat: You don't get many. Don't waste them trying to be clever. Defiance gains you nothing.

Monkey Fist: Ah, but that's where you're wrong.

_He begins to pace the cell, apparently considering his options._

Monkey Fist: Defiance is the very center of my faith. The Monkey King is the living embodiment of defiance. Defiance against the very Will of Heaven. (_Thoughtfully_) I've often wondered what I would do if this moment ever came. And now that it's here, I find myself thinking: 'What would the Monkey King do'?

Tiamat: Nothing. Your god is a delusion, just like all others. A happy dream. A campfire story that you children tell each other. There are no gods watching over this insignificant little dust-speck. Only me.

Monkey Fist (_Ignoring her_): Now, if I were a _good_ Buddhist, I would want to spend these last few moments in meditation. But then, followers of the Monkey King are more or less precisely the _opposite_ of good Buddhists.

Tiamat (_Mocking_): I thought you were a warrior. Aren't you going to attack me? Make your glorious Last Stand?

_Monkey Fist waves off the idea as if it's beneath consideration._

Monkey Fist: Of course not. That would dignify you.

Tiamat: _What?_

Monkey Fist: It would be treating you like you were a warrior, worthy of honor, when, in fact, the Shego I know has crapped better than you. Regularly.

_Tiamat blazes higher yet, but Monkey Fist continues to ignore her. He finally stops in his pacing and looks up, apparently lost in thought but staring directly at the cell's security camera._

Monkey Fist (_very slow and thoughtful_): What…would...the Monkey King…do?

Tiamat: I'm not going to wait around long enough for you to crap in your hand and throw it at me.

Monkey Fist: Pity. Then I suppose I'll have to settle for –

_He drops his pants, bends over, and moons her, letting out a series of loud monkey-howls and screeches._

_With a shriek of outrage, Tiamat swings her hand in a wide arc and green fire fills the cell._

_Monkey Fist's black-polished bones hit the opposite wall and disintegrate into powdery ash._

_Tiamat turns to leave, then pauses. With a sigh of annoyance, she turns and pulls the blanket off of Monkey Fist's bed, wraps it around herself, and leaves._

----

"Do you see now why you needed to see that?" Wade asked.

"I can see why _Shego_ wouldn't want us to see it," Mr. Dr. P giggled – a high, tittering noise that had no resemblance to his usual warm chuckle. "There's a couple of embarrassing moments in there."

Everyone turned to look at him with various mixtures of disbelief and concern. Colleen took his hand, and Slim patted his back.

"Easy there, Squirt," he said. "Whistlin' past the graveyard is one thing, but you get all hysterical, and you'll wake people up. I don't think we want 'em knowin' this just yet."

"_I_ don't want to be knowin' this just yet," Roger Stoppable moaned.

"Ronald _did_ try to warn you, dear," Ruth said.

"You're right," James Possible answered his brother. "Just give me a minute. Lame humor has always been the thing to get me through before…"

"Everythin's got limits."

"I _do_ see," Kim said, turning her attention back to Wade. "That was 'I just told you, so now I have to kill you' info."

"_What_ info?" Ruth Stoppable asked. "It sounded like gibberish to me. Who's 'the Magician'?"

Rufus chattered and pointed at Ron.

The Stoppables stared at Rufus, then their son – who seemed lost in thought – and finally Kim.

"It's a long story," Kim answered their unspoken question. "Several, actually."

"But Ron's never _been _to Norway," Ruth Stoppable protested.

"I'm not saying it all made sense," Kim said. "But I _did_ get this much: Shego…Tiamat…who_ever_ she is now…is scared of us. There's something about us – as _us_ – that she didn't want to face, and she killed Monkey Fist because something he did ruined that plan for her."

There was a moment of silence as they all pondered that, which Nana finally broke:

"Ronald, you're being awfully quiet. What do you think?"

Ron raised his head. He'd been staring at his hands instead of participating in the conversation. "I think that Monkey Fist was a terrible person," He said. "I think he was an ugly combination of evil and crazy, and I'm not sorry he's dead. But it's not what I would have wanted."

Kim reached out and squeezed one shoulder. Rufus stood on the other and patted his head.

"That last thing he said – I mean, he wasn't just making noises," Ron went on. "He was _saying_ something. In Monkey."

Nana and Slim both raised eyebrows at this, but no one else had any reaction. After all, they'd watched Ron talk to a rat every day for years.

"What was it?" Kim asked.

"He said: 'it's in your hands now, Pretender. Bring the bitch down'." He pondered that for a moment before going on. "He _knew_. Somehow he knew we were going to see this, and he sent me a message that Tiamat couldn't understand."

"Of course he knew," Kim said softly, reaching out to pull Wade in. "He knew who we have looking out for us."

For that brief moment, it was just the four of them again, and no one else in the dim, silent, cavernous vastness of Smarty Mart was even there. Just Team Possible, terribly young and terribly brave, there for each other in a way no one else could be, trying to put together the clues to save the world.

The adults, realizing that they were outside of that circle, simply watched quietly, with perhaps a little bit of envy.

Kim only ever fulfilled half of the promise she'd made to Wade before he'd shown her Monkey Fist's fate.

**Passing the Message On**

"…and that's about all we were able to make of it."

Sensei nodded gravely. "It is more than many would have. You have all done well, Load-san. Please pass my congratulations along to Stoppable-sama and Possible-sama."

"I will, but that's not why we called."

"Of course. I thank you for the warning – and please pass those thanks along as well. We shall begin to prepare our defenses immediately."

Wade nodded. "Good. I'll pass that along _first_. These days, we're a little more worried about keeping our friends _alive_ than getting compliments from them."

Sensei gave a humorless smile. "Young people with their priorities in order. How encouraging."

They said their polite good-byes, and Load-san's image disappeared from the computer screen.

Sensei settled back into his seat with a sigh. Friends. He only hoped that Ron-san and Kim-san would consider him so when this was all over.

That was when one of Yamanouchi's senior instructors, a fifty-year-old man with a weather-bronzed face that was currently the color of parchment, burst into the room.

"Sensei-sama!" The teacher cried. "They're here!"

Another sigh. "Very well," Sensei said as he slowly, carefully rose to his feet. "I'm coming."

**Author's Note: Tiamat's outfit (once she starts wearing clothes) is, of course, the Supreme One's outfit from ASiT.**

**Another Author's Note: Shego maimed Adrena Lynn wayyyy back in _Thunderheads on the Horizon_.**


	18. Storm Surge

Kim growled with the effort as she shoved the last of the cars into its place on Smarty Mart's roof. She wiped her brow and then turned her hand over.

"Kimmunicator," she said. Obediently, a viewscreen formed on her palm.

"Torpedoes loaded, Wade," she reported.

"Good," He approved. "We've just about got the inner barricade repaired down here, and – "

"Hey, Wade," Ron interrupted. For once, his new habit of appearing out of nowhere (_God, he could be just like a little kid with a new toy_) wasn't that hard to explain. At least he'd been up on the roof. "I know I asked this last time, but you never answered: why don't _I _get a super suit? I want to push cars around, too!"

"I don't know," Wade retorted. "Could it be because you break or catastrophically misuse every piece of technology you touch?"

"Not _every_ – "

"Laser lipstick," Rufus squeaked.

"Acid nail polish," Wade added.

"Knockout lip gloss," Kim finished.

Ron crossed his arms and sulked. "I never heard my video game controller complain."

Even as they were saying the words, Kim couldn't believe that she was hearing them. Barely twelve hours after seeing Tiamat's message, and they were acting like this was one of the _old_ missions, before everything blew up last spring. Were they that…callous? That self-centered? She felt awful, but she couldn't stop herself. In fact, she could barely stop herself from throwing Ron down on the roof, telling her armor to "store", and jumping him right there. It was like her mind was trying to feel guilty, but the rest of her was trying to feel alive.

"Besides, you _can_ push cars around," she pointed out. "Sometimes without touching them."

Ron's scowl was replaced by a sly grin. "Yeah, but I don't look as badical when I do it."

"Super-suit's a bit too expensive to be a fashion statement, Ron," Kim said. Then she closed her hand on Wade and matched Ron's sly grin with a sultry one. Speaking of trying to feel alive… "And besides, it sounds like you're not as interested in getting your own super-suit anymore as you are in getting into _this_ one."

"Yeah," he said, slipping an arm around her. "My mind does tend to wander like that."

He was leaning in for a kiss when –

"Squeeeeb!"

Both of their heads snapped up.

"Is that – ?" Kim.

"It couldn't be!" Ron.

"_Squeeeeeb!_"

"Who am I kidding?" Ron said. "Of course it could."

They broke their embrace and raced to the edge of the roof.

----

Blue-white arcs of energy danced up Kim's legs as her feet hit the pavement behind the barricade.

_Forty feet, and it felt like stepping down from the curb. This suit continues to rock. No time to enjoy it now, though._

"There's something coming," She announced.

"Nooo," Bonnie retorted. "Ya think?"

Kim blushed, but pushed on. "I didn't get a good look at it," she said. "It's coming through the woods. But it's _big_. Tree-bending big."

Ron touched down beside her (_thirty seconds to get down here – _still _such a baby!_) just as another bellow of

"_SQUEEEB!_"

Roared out of the woods.

"Isn't that what your FFF used to call you?" Bonnie asked Ron, unperturbed.

"My what which who?"

"Fishy freak friend," Monique said over her shoulder from the barricade. "You've been away too long, boyfriend."

Ron looked at her.

Then he looked at Bonnie.

Then back at Monique.

"Wrong," he said at last. "Not sick, but deeply, deeply wrong." Then he shook it off. As he continued to speak, he had to raise his voice until he was nearly shouting to be heard over the sound of massive footsteps and breaking trees. "Yeah," he said. "It is. But Gill was an ordinary kid! Except for, you know, the mutant fish thing. He couldn't make noise like that without – "

The thing that had been coming through the woods finally broke the treeline.

"Oh," Ron said. "That explains it."

The creature that lumbered out of the forest was about the size of a tyrannosaurus rex, but there the resemblance ended. What it _really _looked like, with its ridged, armor-plated back, bellyband scales, and tree-sweeping tail, was an alligator that had learned to walk on its hind legs. But even _that_ wasn't right. Its head was angular and dragonish instead of rounded and blunt like a true alligator's, and its black-clawed limbs were unmistakably humanoid.

It stopped at the edge of the woods and scanned the defenders gathered behind the barricade, taking no notice of the weapons they were leveling at it. Its face split into a horrible facsimile of a grin when it spotted Ron.

"Hello, Squeeb," It rumbled.

"Gill?" Ron called. "Is that you?"

The massive head shook once. "Not anymore."

"What, did you add a third 'L'?"

The grotesque parody of a smile dropped from the creature's face, and the people who'd heard the story of the first confrontation at Wannaweep actually snickered.

Laughing Magician indeed.

Then the toothy grin returned, and the beast just shook his head again. "The green woman came to me, Squeeb," he said in tones that would have been hushed if his voice wasn't such that he roared even when he was trying to whisper.

The mocking grin dropped from Ron's face.

The few people who had attention to spare for such things noticed that the Possible family was suddenly looking more frightened than they had during the entire siege so far. It was not, to put it mildly, a good thing for morale. But both family and Irregulars held their ground.

"She came and she told me my purpose," Not-Gill continued. "She told me what I was born to do…what my whole _life_ has been leading up to." His grin broadened, and his eyes glittered. "And then she made me what I was always meant to be." He paused and struck a dramatic pose. Apparently there was enough of the old Gil left for that. "I am Leviathan now, Squeeb. And I _am_ Wannaweep!"

Silence.

Not surprisingly, it was Bonnie Rockwaller who broke it.

"So he's Wannaweep," She said in a fast, flat tone. "That sounds like a good reason to shoot him. Is there a reason we're not shooting him yet?"

Kim stared at her former rival in shock, but apparently most of the crowd agreed with her, because it only took a moment – long enough for the words to sink in – before the Irregulars opened fire.

Leviathan just stood there in the midst of the storm of hot lead, paying it no more mind than a light rain. The monstrous grin never even left his face.

Then a bolt of energy struck him in the chest, and he disappeared in a blaze of light. The Irregulars started to cheer, but Nana Possible – standing atop the barricade with one of her grandsons' pistols in her hand – said nothing.

The cheering died as the smoke cleared and Leviathan was revealed. Still standing there. Still grinning.

"Thought so," Nana said, lowering her gun to her side.

Stunned, everyone on the line lowered their weapons as well and just stared.

"Aww, are we disappointed?" Leviathan taunted. "Don't worry. I think your little toys might work a little better against them."

Everyone tensed again, raising their weapons. The lake-things. It had to be the lake-things. However many were left, they were coming now.

Kim glanced at Ron.

He nodded and started to raise his hands, and keys started to turn in the ignition of every car on the roof.

Then Leviathan pointed.

Toward the city.

It wasn't the lake-things that were coming.

It was the Ravers.

All of them. Three hundred or more. The city was emptying.

It was clear that none of them had bathed or changed their clothes since the night Middleton fell. Some went naked or nearly so – the grizzled, middle-aged, pot-bellied man lurching along in nothing but his boxers; the teenage girl with the bleach-blond hair wearing only a denim miniskirt – while others wore the filthy rags of three-piece-suits, the latest fashions from Club Banana, lab coats – there was even a police uniform or two. Some loped along, low and fast, like feral dogs, while others limped and shambled with untreated, festering wounds: burns from fires that they'd known how to set but not how to avoid. Bare feet turned into ground meat by broken glass that their owner had not noticed walking over. Here an arm hanging limply. There, fingers skewed from a hand swollen up like a cartoon character's glove. There and there – blood still tacky on the insides of bare legs.

Some few had guns, but they seemed more interested in firing them into the air to emphasize their whoops and howls than making an effective attack. Others were armed with broken bottles, lead pipes, nail-studded boards – whatever they could lay their hands on – while most looked like they intended to use hands and teeth that were already clotted with blood.

As the Ravers poured into the Smarty Mart parking lot, the defenders started to cry out – not just in shock and horror, as they had for the lake-things, but in recognition:

"Dad!"

"Oh, my God! Angie!"

"Eli? Is that you?"

Worst of all, the Ravers answered back.

"Hey, Bon-bon," a female voice singsong sneered. Bonnie turned toward it, her eyes going wide.

"Lonnie?"

"You got the guts, huh?" Bonnie's once-beautiful sister taunted. Her face was filthy and bruised, her hair was matted, and she was carrying an axe.

"Fine," a similar voice said. The lenses were gone from Connie's glasses, but she was still wearing them like an evil talisman. She held up a small, serrated steak knife. "We'll see how they taste."

Bonnie backed away from the barricade, shaking her head, her face the color of paper. "No," she said. Her voice was weak and breathless, and that was perhaps the most frightening thing of all. "No. They were out. They got out. They called – they said they were in Upperton!"

"They lied," Felix said with surprising bluntness. "We're lucky they didn't think to say 'send more paramedics'."

Kim and Ron stared at him in shock. Bonnie's look was much harder to read, but it only lasted a moment before she nodded, took a deep breath, and returned to the barricade.

Kim switched her shocked stare to Bonnie.

"Ronald," Nana said in a clipped tone of command. At this moment, she wasn't Nana anymore – she was Lt. Marion Zimmer Possible, a grim time-traveler from World War II. Ron's head instinctively snapped toward her.

"The plan hasn't changed."

Ron stared at her for a moment. Then he closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Raised his hand. Closed it into a fist.

On Smarty Mart's roof, keys turned in ignitions and engines roared to life.

Kim broke out of her paralysis: "What? No! Yes it has!" She grabbed Ron, and his eyes flew open. The engines on the roof stopped revving and returned to idling. "We can't do this to _people_!"

"They aren't people, K," Bonnie said bleakly from the barricade as she watched her sisters approach. "Not anymore."

Ron looked helplessly between Kim and Nana until Nana locked eyes with him again. He gritted his teeth and started to raise his hand again.

"But what if they could be again?" Kim blurted.

Silence.

"That's a cruel thing to say, Kimberly," Nana said softly.

"But what if it's right?" Kim pressed. "They aren't zombies – not dead ones, anyway. If Wannaweep is what's doing this to them, maybe the plan – " She turned to Ron. "How long?"

"Ten minutes," Ron said reflexively, glancing at his watch. "But KP…" He looked anguished, and Kim knew why. He was torn between doing what Nana told him to do – which would ensure the safety of everyone in Smarty Mart, including her – and clinging to any hope that would make it so he didn't have to do it. What she said next would tip the balance. "…I know you're all torn up over…" He glanced over his shoulder at the 'civilians' on the barricade. "…what you saw last night. Are you sure this isn't just about that?"

Kim replied without hesitation.

"Of course it's about that," She said. "But not _just_. These people are _victims, _Ron," She gestured toward the approaching Ravers. "If we don't at least _try _to save them first, then we become what we're trying to fight. If that happens, we've already lost. I _know _that, Ron. I feel it. If there's another way, we have to take it."

Then, without another word, without even waiting for his reply, she caught him by his shirt.

Gave him a kiss.

And sprang for the barricade.

----

"KP!"

"Kimberly!"

Nana's hand skated across Kim's back, but there was nothing to catch, and then she was over the barricade and striding out into the parking lot.

She said her words, and blades of blue energy ignited in her hands.

She'd noticed what had happened last time. With the lake-things. Would it work now?

_Please, please, please…_

Yes.

It was working.

The Ravers were converging on her. Ignoring everything and everyone else in their mindless drive to destroy the Warrior.

----

Less than twenty-four hours before, Kim Possible had charged into the hordes of Wannaweep's children carrying red death in her hands and leaving a trail of it behind her, and great shouts of relief and victory had gone up from Smarty Mart's defenders as she did so.

Now the blades in her hands were blue, and the sounds were very different.

Connie and Lonnie Rockwaller were the first to fall, flashes of blue light sending them to the pavement whole, unharmed, and unconscious, their weapons tumbling from their hands.

At the barricade, Bonnie sobbed in desperate relief, her nerve finally breaking. Brick gathered her into his big arms and held her tight as she whispered "I almost had to kill them" over and over again.

There were similar sobs here and there up and down the line as more family and friends hit the ground.

There were pleas to stop – whether they were meant for Kim or the Ravers or both was hard to say – pleas not to hurt them.

There were more cries of recognition and horror, including:

"Darren!"

Denise Edwards, once again showing more guts than brains, had snuck out to the barricade, and had found what she'd been hoping and fearing to find.

"Daaaarrrren!"

Her brother, the former self-appointed Most Eligible Bachelor of Middleton High, had just arrived at the edge of the parking lot and she was trying to run out to meet him (and never mind the ball-peen hammer in his right hand), but Tara and Monique were holding her back.

There were even shouts of encouragement.

But mostly there was silence, a heavy, breath-held suspense as everyone watched and clutched their weapons tight and prayed that they wouldn't have to use them.

So everyone saw when things started to go wrong.

A lead pipe caught Kim in the leg. It should have shattered her kneecap, but of course, in her armor, it did no such thing. She took the pipe-swinger (who looked like he'd been a plumber before he went Raver, appropriately enough) down, then moved her head just in time to let the sledgehammer coming down on her from behind hit her shoulder.

The Irregulars – who had gasped in fear when Kim had been hit – cheered as she reversed her grip on her blade, stabbed back into the hammer-wielder's gut, and then pressed on into the crowd, unfazed.

Ron didn't. Neither did Nana. The armor was doing its job…

(_Kim blocks an incoming hay-rake, then turns her body so a knife-slash just barely skims her side_)

but the Ravers shouldn't be getting that close. Kim was fighting as magnificently as usual –

(_a high spin kick takes down a soccer mom and two construction workers_)

- _but no better_. Consciously or unconsciously, she was holding back, not fully unleashing herself like she had against the lake-things. It was Kim Possible out in the parking lot. Not the Scarred Warrior.

(_a manager from one of Middleton's tech companies – middle-aged, overweight, red-faced and sweating – grabs her arm and Ron's heart stops. Kim simply thrusts her other energy-blade under her trapped arm and pulls loose as he collapses.)_

And Kim Possible wasn't going to be enough. The Ravers were closing in around her –

(_She leaps over a football player's attempt to tackle her, plants her foot on his back – sending him plowing into the ground – and launches herself into a tight cluster of her opponents. Several grasping hands just miss catching her feet) _

- preparing to execute a maneuver that had been used with great success against knights and other elite, armored warriors from time immemorial:

(_A goth-girl grabs Kim by one leg. The girl is sent to the pavement less than a second later by a knee to the chin, but Kim is slowed enough for blows to start landing: a kick to the thigh; a punch to the stomach; a crowbar across the back. Hands reach out from the crowd and Kim grimly struggles to get free as blue sparks start to dance across her armor.) _

Swarm her under by sheer numbers, pry her out of her armor, and beat her to death.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

"Time," Ron barked as the Robersons' station wagon started to rev its engine on the roof above.

"Eight minutes," Nana replied, startled. Her first glimpse of the Laughing Magician was even more shocking than it had been for Sensei – unlike him, she'd never imagined the power inside the amiable goofball she'd always known.

Ron nodded, and the station wagon leapt forward, hurling itself over the edge of the roof…and kept going. Where it should have fallen just a bit past the barricade, it continued to soar through the air like a slow-motion scene from an action movie.

It was a trick that he and Kim had worked out at Yamanouchi. Mostly Kim. She'd learned more about physics and inertia from her father by sheer osmosis than Ron would probably ever know, so she'd been able to figure out a way to trick the laws of nature instead of trying to defy them. Ron couldn't lift anything like the station wagon's weight, not from a dead start. But if he had existing momentum to work with…keeping something going on the path it was already on was easy. Well, easy-ish.

Perhaps Kim saw its shadow, or heard the roar of the engine over the shrieks of the Ravers, or perhaps she just Knew.

"Ron!" She shouted. "What are you doing?"

Alerted by her shout, the Ravers saw the station wagon arcing through the air toward them and – being crazy but not stupid – scattered.

The car hit on its nose, driving the engine block back into the passenger compartment. Its momentum unspent, the back end continued past the front until the car slammed down on its back, _bounced_, and flipped one more time to land hard on its wheels.

Then it rolled a few more feet and came to a stop.

In the silence that followed, even the Ravers had to pause and look around in amazement. There should have been a trail of crushed bodies in the station wagon's wake. Its path should have been a red smear. Flying debris should have shredded those who avoided being smashed.

None of that had happened. Not one of them had been hit. Not one.

Impossible.

Then the growls and the laughter and the shrieking and the curses resumed among the Ravers and they started to turn back, as if deciding that the best way to celebrate this miracle was to tear Kim Possible apart.

She braced herself and raised her blades. How much longer did she have to hold out? She wished she could check, but she didn't dare take her eyes off the Ravers for a second.

Amazing how long ten minutes could be.

The Ravers edged forward, pacing, tracking, trying to find a weakness, an angle of attack, but she just held her position.

_How long how long how long_

The Ravers lunged and she started to move, but then Ron was there, the Lotus Blade in his hands in the form of a Bo Staff, knocking them back, sending them flying.

A low sweep took the legs out from under a young man, dropped him on his back, but instead of continuing on into the mob, Ron spun about and pointed the butt of the staff at his victim. Steel prongs punched through the pavement on either side of the young man's neck, pinning him to the ground.

"Ron!"

"Say 'shell', KP."

"What?"

"Say it!" A third tine drilled out from between the other two and touched the Raver's throat.

"Shell! _Shell_!"

A dome of blue energy flared into life around them, shutting the Ravers out. As it did, her blades dissolved, feeding it their energy.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She demanded, whirling on her oldest friend. "Have you lost your mind?"

He raised his head, and what she saw in his eyes brought her up short. At this moment, he wasn't Ron Stoppable. He wasn't even the Laughing Magician. She'd only ever seen this Ron once – in Drakken's lair in the Ring of Fire, at the end of the summer.

"Almost," he answered. "Who's holding back now, KP?"

"What?" She stared at him blankly.

"Here's the sitch, Kim," He said, turning his attention back to the Raver at his feet. "I don't give a damn about the long term or the big picture. I'm not going to let these bastards hurt you. Either you go Warrior on their asses, or I'll kill them all."

He raised his head again, and their eyes locked. What she saw in those gentle brown orbs chilled her to the marrow. The rage, cold and wild and massive as a glacier, grinding and crushing everything before it.

"You know I can do it." On the roof, a half-dozen more engines revved.

"And you know I can stop you," she said softly.

"There are at least two ways for you to stop me. You choose."

The rage. The crushing rage and behind it, the fear. The annihilating, soul-deep fear. More than anything else, those eyes said

_I couldn't survive losing you_

She looked away from those terrified, raging eyes, only to see the Ravers clustering around their shield, pounding on it, breaking their weapons and bloodying their fists in their attempts to reach the Warrior and – now – the Magician. She took a moment, just a moment, to survey their faces before she turned back, her face set.

Ron took a tighter grip on his war-fork, bracing himself for Kim's decision.

Ignoring him, she bent and touched a fingertip to the Raver's forehead. Only then did she get a look at his snarling, once-handsome face. But someone at the barricade had already recognized him.

"DAAAARRRENNN!" Denise Edwards wailed.

Kim's expression didn't change.

"Stun."

Blue spark. Darren Edwards went rigid, then limp.

The war-fork tines shot back into the bo staff. The two teen heroes straightened, and met each others' eyes again.

"Time," Kim said.

"Five minutes," Ron answered.

Kim nodded, turned back toward the Ravers, and raised her hands.

"Hey! Squeeb!"

Both of them looked at where Leviathan stood at the edge of the woods. Then Kim nudged Ron and indicated something with a jerk of her head. He nodded back. He'd seen what she'd seen. Beyond Leviathan, in the woods, something was moving. A _lot_ of somethings. The trees and forest floor were crawling with dark shapes and gleaming eyes.

It had all been a trap. Get the defenders of Middleton to use up their ammunition and their nastiest tricks on the Ravers – breaking their hearts in the process, most likely – leaving them easy prey for the lake-things, Wannaweep's _true_ children.

Then Leviathan brought their attention back to him.

"Hey! Squeeb! Enough with the breather!"

"Time?" Kim asked again.

"Four minutes, thirty seconds."

"Good." Hands back up.

"Got your back."

"Only until we draw them out of the woods. Then _I'm_ covering _you_."

"I think you two need more of a challenge," Leviathan taunted. Then he started to spew his mutating slime on the rear rank of the Ravers. Screaming, they began to warp and twist into…

Some had scales, like the old Gill. Others had massive, gnarled muscles and bony knobs on their knuckles. Claws. Fangs.

Into…

Monsters. Leviathan was turning her people (_her people!_) into monsters.

She didn't remember actually saying the words, but she must have, because the blue dome of the Shell suddenly collapsed into her hands and re-formed her blue blades. Then, with a banshee shriek of rage, she launched herself into the Ravers.

Ron's rage had been deliberate, calculating…cold. Kim's – welling up from somewhere old and deep as the Ravers (_My people!_) were turned into monsters – was white-hot, obliterating all thought with the flames. She was a forest fire that nothing could approach without being burned.

It was a part of herself – of the Warrior – that she had never touched before. She existed on the level of her body: pumping adrenaline, pounding heart, slashingthrustingspinning blades, falling enemies.

Nothing came within reach of her blades and stayed standing.

And behind her came Ron, bo staff in his hands. Golden sparks flared every time he struck, sending Ravers flying or dropping them to the ground asleep with the lightest touch.

The vicious, draconian grin slowly faded from Leviathan's face as he watched his shock troops simply…collapsing. They were beating him again. The Squeeb and his little bitch.

The Green Woman had come to him, _changed_ him, given him his mission, brought out his true greatness, made him what he was always meant to be.

_He was Lake Wannaweep, damn it!_

And they were _still beating him!_

For a moment, there was nothing human. No words, no thought, just the beast.

Just Leviathan.

His inhuman eyes wild, he pointed one obsidian, war-sickle talon at Smarty Mart and roared, a roar that cracked windows as far away as Middleton proper.

Unleashed at last, the lake-things poured out into the parking lot.

Kim came out of her frenzy as suddenly as if she'd been dashed with cold water. She kinda wished she hadn't, considering what was bearing down on her, but some part of her had been able to see through the red haze and recognize that now was the time for strategy.

"Ron!" She shouted, making eye contact through the crowd of Ravers.

He nodded. She nodded back, then leaped into the air, planted her foot on the face of a slavering mechanic swinging a large crescent wrench, and used it as a springboard to flip over the crowd.

She landed in front of Ron, dropping to one knee and throwing her hands out, letting her blades dissolve into the Shell once again. Behind her, Ron raised the Lotus blade over his head, back in its normal form and flaming gold.

On the roof of Smarty Mart, half a dozen idling cars roared awake and launched themselves over the edge.

They hurtled through the air on a long arc, more like they'd been fired from a catapult than a cannon, engines roaring and wheels spinning in nothing.

Ron gripped the Lotus Blade with both hands – his eyes closed, his teeth gritted, his arms straining, sweat pouring down his face and the back edge of the blade pressing into his palm. It was like the whole weight of the flying vehicles was pressing down on the sword.

The cars slammed down at the treeline, in the midst of the lake-thing horde. If all they had done was to bounce, flip, and roll like the car that Ron had thrown at the Ravers, it would have killed plenty of the creatures – they, unlike the Ravers, didn't think to get out of the way – but it wouldn't have slowed Wannaweep's advance very much.

But that wasn't all they did. They did what Ron had prevented the station wagon from doing when it had landed among the Ravers.

Among the "supplies" that Kim had ordered the Irregulars to retrieve the previous day were sticks of dynamite from Middleton's Public Works Department. A small bundle of such sticks sat in the glove compartment of each car, and when the cars touched down, they went off.

The lake-things disappeared into the blooms of fire and hot metal. The ground shook, and a hot wind blew the Irregulars who were foolish enough to be standing and watching instead of crouching behind the barricade against the walls of Smarty Mart. One boom after another of height-of-the-storm thunder assaulted the ears, and the windows that Leviathan's roar had cracked now shattered.

Then silence. Great black clouds of smoke billowing up from the craters on the parking lot's edge.

And then the lake-things poured through.

The woods and the skies around Wannaweep – not to mention the lake itself – had to be empty. Wannaweep had poured out its full wrath upon them, perhaps in frustration that the enemy that had escaped its grasp so many times was so close, but still resisting.

These had to be the oldest of Wannaweep's children, the ones that had been sleeping in the depths of the lake or the woods since the crater that would someday be named Wannaweep had filled with water, bloating and growing strong on their nameless progenitor's power, ever waiting for its call.

Most were unrecognizable for what they had once been. Now they were huge masses of cellular corruption, bubbling and oozing and slithering and skittering toward the people of Middleton, leaving trails of blighted earth behind them.

Almost relieved to be faced with an enemy that they could live with killing, the Irregulars opened fire.

Bullets didn't even cause the creatures to flinch. Energy beams did, but that was _all_ they did.

Kim dropped her shield and filled her hands with red fire, then glanced over her shoulder at Ron.

He was pale and hollow-eyed with exhaustion, struggling to hold the Lotus Blade in a ready position, but still grim-faced and determined.

"Time?" She asked.

----

_Ten_

Miles away, Rufus's claws danced over the controls of the Kimminator Mark II.

_Nine_

Targeting.

_Eight_

Lock. Not that targeting is hard when your objective is two miles long, a quarter mile wide, and glowing in colors that had never been seen before on Earth.

_Seven_

Rufus flipped up a panel on the dashboard and slapped his paw down on the red button beneath.

Fire.

_Six_

The missile splashed down in the lake.

_Five_

Payload delivered, Rufus banked _hard_. As soon as he was pointed even remotely in the direction of Middleton, he hit the afterburners and – in terms that his mind could formulate but his mouth would never be able to articulate – got the ever-loving, merciful blue _fuck_ out of Dodge.

_Four_

A shiny object the size of a fist, adorned with several blinking lights, sank into the once-black depths of the lake, now lit with their own diseased light.

_Three_

Deep down in the sickly light that should have been darkness – far deeper than such a small lake should be – something unspeakable sensed the intrusion.

_Two_

An indescribable appendage rose out of the lake-bottom muck and encircled the small object.

_One_

Did the thing in the lake have anything so human as curiosity or suspicion? For whatever reason, it drew the small object closer to its main mass.

_Zero_

Jim and Tim Possible's Singularity Inducer activated for an increment of time so small that there was no name for it before collapsing in on itself. There was a silent white flash, then the column of cancer-light collapsed as air rushed in to fill the absolute void and thunder rolled. Miles away, in Middleton, the Ravers and the lesser lake-things collapsed like marionettes with cut strings, while the elder lake-things screamed and dissolved into putrid puddles of slime and billowing clouds of polluted mist.

Where the lake had been, there was only an empty stone bowl a half-mile deep. The woods for more than a mile in all directions had been stripped to the bare bedrock.

Wannaweep was gone.

----

The thunder rolled over Middleton, and then there were screams and the thump of falling bodies and the horrible wet sounds of the elder children of Wannaweep disintegrating.

And then there was silence as Middleton held its breath.

Then Kim Possible opened her hands, and the blades that had been in them went out, and a cheer to rival the thunder went up. They had won.

Not everyone wasted the time to stand around shouting. Kim had no sooner extinguished her blades than Bonnie was vaulting over the barricade, racing out among the bodies of the lake-things and the comatose, barely-breathing Ravers to find her sisters. The other Second-String Heroes were close behind her, but closest of all was Denise Edwards, searching for her big brother.

Kim's shoulders drooped as the fatigue finally hit her. The last ten minutes had been very, very long. She turned back to Ron, and had just opened her mouth to say something when his eyes went wide. She had just enough time to see that, but not enough time to do anything about it, before a tail the size of a tree trunk swept out of the billowing green-black clouds and crashed into her side, sending her bouncing and tumbling away across the parking lot.

"KP!"

Survive pretty much anything a tank could, Wade had said. But Ron had a suspicion that a tank would have been flipped over and broken like a toy by that blow. He started to move, to go to her, but then something massive was in his way.

"We're not done yet, Squeeb."

Leviathan.

No. Not Leviathan. Something had changed.

He wasn't any smaller, or any less monstrous, but he was still…diminished, somehow. Like Burlson had been when they'd first found him, only moreso. The power had gone out of him.

"You want to get out of my way now, Gill," Ron growled. He wasn't feeling tired anymore. The golden flame of the Lotus Blade was starting to spread to his hand, and his eyes were starting to shine like miniature suns.

"I'm not Gill anymore," the creature before him rumbled. "I told you, Squeeb, I am – "

"You're _not_ Leviathan," Ron interrupted. "Not anymore. Heck, you may be back to one-"L" territory. Now you're going to get out of my way, or I'm going to go through you."

The former Leviathan just grinned nastily in response to that. "I don't know what your hurry is, Squeeb. It doesn't matter to _her_ how long you take to get there. Or if." He paused, and pretended to consider something. "Hope I didn't damage her too much, though. I'm going to be hungry after we're done, and I'm in the mood for some barbecued chick wings, not ground bitch."

Ron didn't answer. Not in words. He just took a guard position, Lotus Blade at the ready. _Both_ of his hands were engulfed in golden fire now, and something was starting to flicker in his hair.

Gill's grin broadened…and then disappeared as his mouth snapped open. Ron had the Lotus Blade in front of him in the form of a shield before Gill was even finished, but it turned out he didn't need it. When Gill made his far-too-familiar belching sound, nothing came out but a dribble of thin green drool.

The Lotus Blade changed back into a sword. His hair had become golden flame now, and faint glowing wisps were starting to rise from his shoulders.

Those who might have run to help him – Felix, Monique, Nana – were staring in amazement and dismay as their friend turned into a bonfire.

Gill backed away, making a few more abortive attempts to spray his enemy with his mutating slime. All he succeeded in doing was belching up more green drool.

Then he stopped, apparently remembering that he was now the size of a T-rex, and started forward, growling and flexing his claws.

Ron just kept coming, his flaming sword in his hand. Gill was already dead. Suicide by cop. He just didn't know it yet.

Then Gill's tree-trunk legs blazed with blue light and he collapsed to his knees, screaming and shattering the pavement.

Ron stopped, and the golden flames flickered. "KP?"

There was another blaze of blue light just above Gill's waist, and he fell forward, catching himself on his hands.

Then she appeared: filthy, battered, and very, very angry, her armor still sparking as it tried desperately to vent the excess energy from the tail-slap. She strode the length of Gill's massive torso, planted a knee in his back (not that her weight had any appreciable effect), reversed her grip on her blades, and plunged them into either side of his neck, sending him crashing to the ground.

If he'd been a real tyrannosaurus, Gill would have been knocked out. Probably for hours. Instead, he growled and twitched and tried to gain enough control of his muscles to struggle. His arms flexed and scrabbled at the pavement, tearing up chunks of macadam, but he couldn't muster enough actual movement to force the cheerleader on his back to even shift position.

"KP!" Ron shouted joyously. He started forward, his flames blowing out as he ran, but then Kim said something that brought him up short:

"Is there another way?"

He stopped, staring at her quizzically. "Another what?"

"Is there another _way_, Ron?" She shouted. It was a challenge and a plea all in one. "If not, I'll say the words and take his damn head off right now!"

She looked up at him for an answer, and in that moment, Ron Stoppable learned something.

She was scared. She was hurt. She was angry. She desperately, desperately didn't want to do it. But none of that was a surprise.

No, what he suddenly understood was what she'd done at the end of summer, in Drakken's lair in the Ring of Fire. He understood why she had run out amongst the Ravers at the beginning of this fight, and why she had reached into new reserves when he'd threatened to wipe the Ravers out.

Why she'd stopped _him_ from killing Gill.

She _would_ do it. She would do it for the people of Middleton, and she would do it for him. All he had to do was nothing. But that wasn't something he could do. Because he knew what that would do to her.

And because he knew the answer to her question.

"_Is there_ – "

"Yes!"

And there was. There was another way. He _knew _it. He could feel it. Maybe she could, too – maybe that was where the challenge in her voice had come from. There was another way, because somewhere inside the monster, there was a nine-year-old boy – a mean one, it was true – whose only crime had been that he'd loved to swim so much that he'd been a bit careless about where he did it.

Ron stepped forward, taking control of the power that had been a raging wildfire a moment before, focusing it down into a single, gold-flaming hand. Then he reached out and placed that hand on Gill's head.

Gill _screamed_, and the people of Middleton – already half-deaf from the dynamite and Wannaweep's thunder – clutched their ears and screamed along with him.

Neither member of Team Possible flinched. Kim held her position, keeping Gill pinned, while Ron poured his power out into his enemy.

A few moments ago, this would have been a depressing combination of useless and impossible, but a lot had changed in those few moments. Gill had lost his connection with Wannaweep – with the Unshaper. The artesian well of poison inside him had dried up. Now there was only the damage that had already been done.

Which was more than enough.

Ron's golden fire burned through the gigantic body, uprooting the Unshaper's cancer, burning it away, purging and purifying, golden light searing away Wannaweep's left-behind shadows.

"_SQUEEEEEB!_"

The scream was even louder than before, and Gill started to thrash. Not even Kim's blades were enough to hold him immobile now.

No great surprise. Death throes were like that.

It wasn't working.

Everyone else that he had healed, their body had had a…a pattern. A blueprint. A pre-existing structure that it was trying to return to. His magic simply provided the energy for that to happen. Gil Moss's body had become so completely corrupted, it no longer had that pattern, and Ron's chaotic power couldn't provide it. The body didn't know what it was supposed to return to, with the Unshaper's pattern gone.

It was killing him as surely as if Ron had simply cut off his head with the Lotus Blade.

Actually, it was killing them both. Ron was in too deep now – his power was flowing out of him as irrevocably as water from an opened dam, and after the cars, his reservoir was nearly empty.

Intuition, instinct, or just long habit, he reached out: "Kim!"

Without hesitation, she reached out, opening her hand and releasing the blade it held. Her gauntlet peeled back from her scarred hand, and she caught hold of his outstretched one.

They both went rigid. Somewhere, a circuit had closed, and the power slammed through them like lightning.

If he'd ever thought about such a thing, Ron might have guessed that Kim's "energy" would be red, as his was gold. A reflection of her passion, her restlessness, and – since she had discovered the Scarred Warrior – of fire and blood. But no, her power was blue. Blue steel: swords and girders and rescue lines.

The blue and gold of the Warrior and the Magician twined and braided and merged and poured into Gill's body as green. Not Tiamat's poisonous green, but the green of living, growing things.

_Nature's first green is gold, its hardest hue to hold._

One of the blades gone, Gill managed enough control of his muscles to hunch up before he vomited out a gout of liquid green fire. Flaming green tears poured down his face, and his back looked like the roof of a house on fire, with green flame licking up between his armor-plate scales and spreading by the second.

Through it all, Kim and Ron held tight to each other, and to him.

Gill screamed one last time, emerald light blazing out from him in all directions.

And then he exploded.

----

Kim and Ron opened their eyes. Not quite daring to move, they looked around as much as they could by darting their eyes around.

"Are we alive?" Ron asked.

"Unless the afterlife somehow involves being covered with thoroughly gorchy green slime, I think yes."

"You know, I didn't even notice the slime? It's kinda scary how quickly I'm getting used to it."

"Not kinda. Very."

"Did it work?"

They both looked down. Curled up at their feet, naked, fetal, and shivering was the fully human body of Gil Moss.

"Looks like."

"Oh, good. Can I pass out now?"

"Sounds spankin'."

Instead of passing out, they both sat down right there on the pavement, supporting each other back-to-back.

"You know," Ron said as she watched Felix, Monique, and their families hurrying toward them across the parking lot while the citizens of Middleton came out to tend to the comatose Ravers (Brick and Beth helped Bonnie move her sisters, while Darren's parents did the same for him – but only because Denise couldn't carry him by herself). "This actually looks like a win."

"Except for the giant space thing that's still headed for us," Kim reminded him dully. "And She…Tiamat still – "

"Strictly limited and local," Ron admitted. "But still a legitimate win."

She didn't really have an answer for that, so she just nodded. He felt the movement against his back.

Pause.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"You were right about the therapeutic value of a good berserk rage. Maybe I should do it more often."

"Like if Bonnie starts backsliding?"

"Maybe."

Longer pause.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

She reached back and twined her fingers through his.

"Never stop saving me from myself."

Ron let out a gusty sigh of relief. He hadn't realized it until that moment, but he'd been bracing himself for her to be mad. The words _I'm sorry you feel that way, KP, but…_had been poised on his lips, and he hadn't even known it. Well, having seen her face with her blades in Leviathan's neck, he maybe had a better idea of her side of it now.

He squeezed her hand.

"I won't if you won't."

"Deal."

**Strictly Limited and Local**

Sensei did most things these days very slowly and carefully. He was eighty-five years old, and his body had suffered quite a battering over the course of those eighty-five years.

_No small amount of it_, he thought with a fond smile, _at the hands of Marion Possible. Perhaps destiny has a sense of humor – I know that the gods do. _

But he was not moving slowly and carefully now. He strode across the grounds of Yamanouchi with the speed and assurance of a much younger man. A man with a purpose, a mission.

These moments would be the fulfillment of his life. He would go to meet them like a warrior.

Some of Yamanouchi's other defenders walked beside him, but most were already waiting on the walls. Not the front walls, but the walls overlooking the landing pad. He knew why, of course, but when he passed through the gates, he saw for himself.

The hover-saucer descended from the sky at a slow and stately pace, as if this was not an attack, but a visit from some dignitary. It was entirely possible that those who rode in it considered that to be the case.

The hover-saucer set down, and its door opened to allow the passengers to disembark.

Those who had once been the male members of Team Go came first, standing two on either side of the door to form an honor guard. A large dragon's-head crest had been added to the chests of their Team Go uniforms, and their own transformations had continued: Abaddon now sported a pair of ram's horns while Legion twitched continuously and gave the impression of _skittering_ even as they stood still, and Behemoth, apparently no longer content with human stature (no surprise in someone who had been so determined that everyone notice him even before his transformation) now stood eight feet tall. Then Drakken stepped out, and he wore a dragon's-head crest as well – a much smaller one, embroidered in gold on the left breast of his coat, so it looked like a badge. He offered his arm to the last passenger of the saucer, and she took it with a gracious, queenly air, though of course she had no need for it.

Tiamat. Once Drakken had handed her out of the saucer, she started across the landing pad at a similarly queenly pace, her head held high and regal. Drakken…_the_ Drakken…followed at her right hand, with her brothers falling in behind.

She wore no crest, of course. She _was_ the dragon.

The ground was oddly scarred wherever her feet came down, and once she left the landing pad and stepped past the ancient boundaries of Yamanouchi itself, one of the defenders – the head groundskeeper – fell dead from a massive stroke as she tore through the school's mystical wards like wet tissue paper.

Sensei responded to none of it. He simply waited as Tiamat marched up to the gates and came to a stop, a haughty look on her face, as if she was a monarch with an army at her back, come to discuss terms of surrender with a beaten enemy. And perhaps that was, in fact, what was happening. After all, what more army did she need?

"Greetings, Tiamat-sama," Sensei said formally. She seemed surprised and pleased that he would address her so – but why would she be? Monster that she was, she was still a queen. "You should have sent advance word of your coming. We could have prepared a proper welcome for you."

"That's why I didn't send word," she answered.

"Very wise. Many beings of your power do not show such prudence."

Tiamat looked uncertain for a moment, as if she couldn't decide if this was the compliment it seemed to be or a subtle accusation of cowardice. But then the moment passed – after all, what did it matter what he thought of her? – and she pressed on.

"You know why I'm here?" She asked.

"I do."

"Then let's get to it, shall we? You know you can't stop me, and if you cooperate, you'll live a little longer and die a little easier."

Sensei frowned. "You make an offer that any warrior would scorn. We would not have chosen this path if we wished to die of old age in our beds."

Tiamat just grinned at that, as if she'd expected that answer, and then she changed.

Her hair lost its greenish tinge, and her eyes turned a black that was the color of a warm tropical night, instead of the cold void between the stars. Her skin was slower to change, but it was clearly darkening toward brown when she spoke again.

"_Por favor, Senor_…you seem like such a nice old man. Please do what she says. She's hurt so many people already, and I don't want her to hurt you, but I can't…I can't stop her anymore."

Sensei nodded gravely, but when he continued to speak, it wasn't in agreement: "Then I fear that I must ask your permission to kill you. I know that you are just one more of the Unshaper's victims. That makes it more tragic, but no less necessary. There can be no surrender to the Unshaper; doing so only brings a more certain doom at a slightly later time. If it is any comfort," he continued sadly. "You will die as a hero for stopping her as long as you did."

Sheila's response took him by surprise. Her eyes lit up and she started forward, reaching out for him as if for a friend long unseen.

"_Si!_ Oh, _por favor_,if you can do it, do it now, _pronto_, before – "

And then the changes reversed themselves as suddenly as a camera-flash.

"-and that's enough of that," Tiamat said, regaining her composure. "No more games. Where is it?"

The look that Sensei gave her was unreadable. "It is interesting that you should mention games," he said. "How did you know that the Scarred Warrior and the Laughing Magician would not be here to face you, Lotus Blade in hand, when you came?"

Tiamat grinned. "Good spot, withered child. They couldn't very well stay if the lake is taking their home apart, could they? Tell me, did they sneak out in the dead of night, or do a yelling, stamping 'you can't keep us here, our families need us' kinda thing?"

"Oh, no," Sensei answered. "I sent them home as soon as the news came. I must thank you for your little distraction, or I would have needed to find an excuse to do so. They certainly wouldn't have gone if they'd known the _true_ reason."

The smile faded from Tiamat's face. "Where is the Lotus Blade?" She demanded.

"For the moment, beyond your reach."

"You're lying!" She shouted. "It's here! I can sense it!"

"It rested here for a thousand years," Sensei answered. "It was the soul of this school. Its power has sunk into the very stone of the mountain. It would take very little magic to make it seem as if it were still here. Perhaps that is what you feel?"

Tiamat's eyes went wide, and – if such a thing was possible – she went pale.

"Are you quite certain that you cannot sense the Blade's power coming from somewhere _else_ in the world?"

Tiamat's eyes went wider – and then flared with green fire.

"_Where is it?_" She shrieked. "_Give it to me!_"

"You are too late," Sensei answered "He has accepted it, and she has blessed it. You must face it again."

And that was enough.

Tiamat screamed out her green-black hellfire dragonflame, and the ashes of the man known only as Sensei were carried away on the high, cold winds as Yamanouchi was blown off the mountain.

**Author's Note: The Singularity Inducer (which is, of course, another of the "supplies" that Kim sent her family to fetch two chapters back) and Denise Edwards are both from "Second String Heroes". Darren Edwards hails from "Blood Bond III", and the name "Marion Zimmer Possible" is, of course, from G-Go's marvelous "Simian Odyssey". **


	19. Eye of the Storm: The Cities Flood

Ron took his fingertips away from the Raver's temples and shook his head.

"Sorry, Mrs. Dr. P," he said, looking down sadly at the woman who'd been nothing more than a particularly aggressive executive at Middleton's pickle factory before Wannaweep had touched her. "No can do. I could heal all of her wounds, but she still wouldn't wake up. There's something…_missing_ inside her, like…like Wannaweep ripped something out and left part of itself in its place, and now she can't do without it."

"Like heroin?" Colleen Possible guessed. "It creates an artificial version of something the body needs, then prevents the body's own glands from producing it?

"I think so," Ron said, considering it. After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah, that could work. And if _all_ of them – " He waved his arm in an all-inclusive gesture. "Are like _this_," he pointed at the patient before him. "Then I'd guess that they've all got the same terminal jones."

After Wannaweep's defeat, the people of Middleton had been left with more than three hundred comatose Ravers, many of whom were suffering from untreated wounds. The infirmary that had been set up in Smarty Mart's pharmacy was no match for such numbers, and so they'd been forced to take the risk of re-opening Middleton Hospital. Ron's gesture was meant to take in the whole building, and the fallen Ravers who filled its wards. And they _were_ all like the woman in the bed (one Ms. Amanda Beckwith): silent on the outside, empty on the inside.

Ron sighed again, then took a deep breath, set his face, and reached out again with his hands starting to glow. "But, like I said, I _can_ heal – "

Dr. Possible caught his wrist before he could finish his sentence or his approach.

"No!"

Ron stared at her.

"No," she amended, visibly calming herself. "I…I thought that we were trying to keep this particular gift secret for now."

Ron just looked around in confusion, as if expecting to spot a large crowd that he'd missed upon coming in. "There's nobody here," He protested.

"Someone could come in at any time."

"We could close the door and I could be real quick," Ron suggested. "Or I could go get Rufus to keep watch."

"Ron…no. After yesterday, you'll exhaust yourself."

He shrugged. "So I'll take a nap. You have a hospital full of people who are in a serious way of hurtin', and anything I can do to make your job easier – "

"You can't heal _everybody_, Ronald," she snapped.

He just stared at her again. Had those words actually come out of _Mrs. Dr. P's_ mouth?

"So I shouldn't heal _anybody_?"

For a moment, she just stood there, rigid, staring back at him. Then she sighed and her shoulders drooped. "You're right, Ron. Of course you're right. Go ahead and do what you can for her." She started past him, not quite looking him in the eye. "I'll set up a bed for – "

"Mrs. Dr. P?"

She stopped. Without turning back to him, she reached out and closed the door. Then her head dropped.

"I'm sorry," She said softly. "I'm being…" She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, but still didn't turn to face him. "I don't think I can stand to watch you work anymore today," she said at last. "Not if you're going to light up. Not after yesterday. I'm sorry. It's something I'll get over."

She started for the door again, but Ron shocked them both by catching her by the shoulder before she could go. "Mrs. Dr. P…please, did I do something wrong?"

With another sigh, she finally turned back to him. "No, Ron. Nothing you did was wrong. It wasn't even all that different from what I would have done in the same situation. It's just that yesterday, you frightened me…us…very badly. It's just…I'm sorry, but for a moment, when you were so angry and you were flaming up and getting ready to kill Leviathan, you…" She paused, wringing her hands. For a moment, it was like _she_ was the seventeen-year-old, confessing after being caught in a lie.

"Go on," he said, his voice flat. "Don't leave me hanging."

"…you looked an awful lot like Tiamat."

Ron felt like he'd been punched in the gut. By Hego. He took a few numb steps backward.

"Ron…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…I didn't mean…"

He felt like he had in the summer, after…what he had done in Drakken's lair.

He'd _scared_ Mrs. Dr. P. And who else? She'd said 'us'.

"Ron, don't. Ron, _look_ at me. Ron…"

A slender hand took hold of his face and turned it back to meet a pair of warm, steady blue eyes. The shuffling teenager was gone, and Mrs. Dr. P was back in the house.

"Ron, _listen _to me. Please. I love you like you were one of my own. I have for a long time. You getting together with Kim may have reinforced that a little, but it didn't create it. And even if that wasn't true, you and your magic not only saved Kim's life, but helped her get it back afterward. Until you have children of your own, you can't even imagine what that means. Nothing in this world could make me think even a little bit less of you. You frightened me; it's something I'll get over. That's all there is to it. You get me?"

Not quite trusting himself to speak, Ron nodded.

"Good. You do what you can for Ms. Beckwith, and I'll guard the door."

"Guard the door?" Ron asked, starting to shake off his distress.

"That way we can be sure no one comes in – " She began.

"And you don't have to be in the room," He finished glumly.

At that moment, her fear seemed ridiculous, and all she wanted to do was hug him. Instead, she reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

"I said I'd get over it," She assured him. "But I'm not quite ready to get back on the horse yet, okay?"

After a moment, Ron nodded, though for some reason that Colleen Possible chose not to ask about, he was blushing when he did it.

**Outside the Walls**

With Wannaweep destroyed, the tri-city area had become something of a haven. Not safe, perhaps, but still safer than nearly any other place in the world.

----

In Alaska, pack after pack of timber wolves began to tear apart their alphas.

----

In Salem, Massachusetts, a coven of Wiccans decided to "show our unity with our spiritutal ancestors" by hanging themselves after pressing one of their male members to death under a pile of heavy stones.

----

In a secluded lab in the Amazon rain forest, a certain Dr. Akari was suddenly swarmed and stung to death by his many-legged little friends and test subjects.

----

Chaos erupted when the entire West Coast of the United States suddenly went dark. Strangely, that chaos didn't last long. Although the power didn't come back on, the rioting and looting ended after an hour or so.

When the Sun came up the next day, it became clear why when authorities started to find the bodies of the rioters and looters, broken and torn in ways that even the most senior police officers had never seen before. Survivors could only tremble and repeat stories of the indescribable things that had come out of the dark.

**Bad Memories**

Kim was searching Middleton Hospital for her BFBF (her mind sometimes replaced the Monique-ism with the word "lover", but she generally pushed it away when it did – even now, it was hard to even get her head around it. Then again, there were moments when she savored it) when she heard a familiar chattering coming from an open door.

With a smile, she turned and entered – then stopped short.

Ron wasn't there. Instead, she saw Connie and Lonnie Rockwaller lying in the room's two beds. Bonnie's sisters had been among the less-damaged of the Ravers, so now, with the exception of a few band-aids, they actually looked peaceful. Of course, if you stayed any length of time and saw how their only sign of life was their slow, shallow breathing, the illusion quickly dissolved.

Sitting between the beds was Bonnie herself. The source of the familiar chattering became clear as Rufus popped his head up from her lap.

"Hi Kim!"

"Hey, Rufus," She greeted him. And then, a bit more perplexed: "…Bonnie."

"Hi, K," Bonnie replied, not looking up or pausing in her petting of Rufus as she did so. "Your boyfriend had to go somewhere with your mom. He said he'd be right back." She raised her head, trying to wipe her face as surreptitiously as she could. "Why aren't you with him?" She asked. "Aren't you two, like, joined at the hip now? The _front_ of the hip?" She tried to get her old, taunting edge into the words, but the best she could manage was a pale shadow.

Kim blushed anyway. "I was down on the first floor with my Nana, trying to figure out how to make this place defensible. It's not going to be easy. Everything that makes it a good hospital makes it a bad fort."

Bonnie nodded, as if that was no more than she expected. "He left his pet," she added, holding up Rufus.

"I saw that."

"You know, it's funny," Bonnie said as she put Rufus back in her lap and resumed petting him. "The gross little thing is actually kinda nice to have around."

"I've noticed that from time to time," Kim said neutrally. Rufus didn't seem offended, so she wasn't going to make an issue.

There really wasn't anything else to say. It was a ferociously uncomfortable sitch, and she strongly considered leaving. But Rufus was here, and maybe Ron would be back if she just waited a minute. On the other hand, waiting for her BFBF in Bonnie's sisters' hospital room was – as Bonnie herself would have said – _tres _tacky. Better to wait outside.

"Is this what it was like for your family?" Bonnie asked, interrupting Kim's thoughts.

Kim didn't need the other girl to elaborate on her question. For a moment, she wished she'd left sooner. The sitch had just crossed the line from "ferociously uncomfortable" to "traumatic".

Still. She was Kim Possible. Helping people was what she _did_. If Bonnie (of all people) needed to talk…

"I don't know," She answered simply. "They don't like to talk about it."

"Uh-uh," Rufus said, shaking his head.

"I guess they wouldn't," Bonnie said. "There's nothing going on here that _I_ want to remember."

Kim didn't have an answer to that.

"I wonder," Bonnie continued thoughtfully, "If the fact that you're a _real_ family made it easier or harder."

It took Kim a second to realize what her one-time rival had said. "What are you talking about?" She protested. "_You're_ a real – " She trailed off as Bonnie started shaking her head.

"See my 'rents anywhere around?" The dark-haired girl asked.

"Well, when it was me, I guess Ron and my parents took shifts…"

Bonnie shook her head again. "My mom is back at Smarty Mart, weeping and wailing about her poor girls…but she's not here. My dad is probably with her, acting all stoic. He's a bit harder to predict, but I'm sure he's found some way to make himself look good, short of – you know – actually _being_ here. Brick and Bethie have been more help."

Kim decided to ask who "Bethie" was later.

"And me?" Bonnie tried to laugh, but it came out choked. "If it had been up to _me_, they'd have been in the morgue, not the hospital!"

Kim had seen this coming. Not this specific conversation, but…Bonnie had been on the opposite side of mortal combat from her sisters. Some freakage was due. She'd hoped that Brick or Bonnie's parents would be up to helping her through it. Or maybe Ron. Ron was good at stuff like this. Or her own mother. Or _anybody_.

But she, Kim Possible, was the one who was there.

At some point in the proceedings, she had absently pulled up a chair and sat down. Now she reached out and touched her former rival's hand. "Bonnie..." She began.

Bonnie didn't even seem to hear her. "They were terrible to me, and I always hated them, but they're my _sisters_. And I was going to _kill_ them!"

"You thought it was what you had to do," Kim tried to interrupt, but it didn't help. Bonnie was starting to unconsciously curl up, though she managed to avoid squeezing Rufus too tight as she did so.

_Bonnie Rockwaller_ was breaking down in front of her. All thoughts of the wrongsickness of the situation disappeared as Kim did what she does: helped.

"Bonnie!" She barked.

Bonnie's head jerked up – just a little, from pure reflex, but Kim took the opportunity to drop to one knee in front of the other girl and grab her shoulders, forcing her to meet her eyes.

"You did what you thought you had to do," she repeated firmly. "It wasn't just you and them – it was you, them, and everyone inside Smarty Mart."

"Uh-huh," Rufus agreed, equally firmly, nodding his whole body.

"But – " Bonnie started to protest.

For once, Kim overrode her: "And as far as you knew, they were already gone. As far as you knew, the changes to the Ravers were just as permanent as the changes to the lake-things."

"But they _weren't_!" Bonnie cried. "_You_ didn't give up on them!"

Kim paused. It was so hard to tell where kind ended and cruel began right now. But she took a deep breath and pushed on anyway: "And maybe I was wrong to do that," she said softly.

It might as well have been a physical slap, and Bonnie reacted as if it had been one: she reared back, staring in shock, her eyes and mouth agape.

But Kim was relentless. "I've been all over this hospital this morning," she said. "And despite everything my mother and…and the other doctors are doing, not a single Raver has so much as twitched in their sleep. Maybe…maybe they're not going to. Maybe Wannaweep took something from them that can't be replaced. Maybe yesterday was just me being a hero instead of doing what's right."

It hurt to say it. Hurt like Drakken's nano-healers had. Part of her – most of her – didn't believe it. She might have to accept that she couldn't save everyone, as hard as that was, but that didn't mean she shouldn't try. After all, things had worked out better yesterday than if she had just let Nana and Ron go with Plan A, and at least now there was hope. But another part of her wondered: what if that hope proved false? What if all she'd done was condemn the people of Middleton to weeks, months, or years of waiting and caring for the bodies of loved ones who had actually died years ago.

Bonnie dropped her head again. "I know," she admitted. "Your mother already told us. They could wake up in ten minutes or never. That's when my parents took off." Then she finally raised her eyes to Kim's willingly, and Kim almost wished that she hadn't. They were exhausted and miserable and Kim wouldn't have wished that look on Bonnie's face at the worst moment of their rivalry. "And I've been just sitting here, quietly pretending I didn't hear it, worrying what I was going to say to them when they wake up, how I could possibly explain or apologize. But it might not matter because they…might not." She paused. "This _is_ what your family went through."

Kim didn't quite agree. Her family had held together when she had been in her coma, for one thing, and while Ron had felt at least as guilty then as Bonnie did now, he wasn't part of the family. Yet. Technically.

The Ron connection concerned her, though. Groundless as it had been, the guilt had nearly destroyed him. She didn't want that to happen to _anybody_. Not even Bonnie.

She was busy formulating a gentle way to say this when Bonnie said something that knocked the words out of her mind:

"…and I never even said I was sorry."

Her speech gone, Kim could only stare blankly.

"What?"

"I started the fight!"

"What fight? When?"

"Last June! The Fight at the high school! You would have come up with something, you always do, but I just had to lose my temper and the sitch got all out of control and that's when you got blown up! This – " She caught one of Kim's hands and pulled her arm out of her sleeve, revealing the scars. "This is my fault!"

_Oh, no, not another one._ "Bonnie – "

"And I didn't ever want to say I was sorry 'cause that would be weak but I've tried to make up for it in other ways but I guess that isn't good enough so I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! Can my sisters get better now? What's it gonna take? _I'm sorry!_"

Bonnie wasn't even going to hear her right now, so Kim didn't even try. She just took the other girl in her arms and held on as she cried herself out.

----

"You okay?"

"Okay?" Rufus echoed.

"No," Bonnie said, straightening and wiping at her eyes as Kim let go and sat back on her haunches. "I completely lost it. All over _you_, no less."

"It happens," Kim said, getting back up into her chair. "Crazy happens. My mother _hit_ Ron on my first night in the hospital, and she's still sorry for that. Ron…" She shook her head. "Ron's still working through some things." Then she reached out and laid her still-pale, scarred hand on Bonnie's smooth, tanned one. "But now the time for crazy is done, Bonnie, and I want you to listen to me."

For just a moment, Kim sounded like her mother. A bit startled by the calm command in her former rival's voice, Bonnie obeyed.

"I don't remember much about The Fight, so I don't remember if I had any plans brewing. But from what everybody tells me, the sitch _was_ under control…" Bonnie started to wilt, but she didn't really have time to do much before Kim finished: "…Shego's. Until you started to fight back."

Bonnie blinked. "…are you sure?" She asked, as if she didn't quite dare to believe.

"Everybody else seems to be," Kim shrugged. "Everybody wants to blame themselves for what happened," she paused to sigh and roll her eyes."_Everybody_. But from what I can piece together, everybody did _the exact right thing_ that day. Sure, it didn't work out too well for me, but if anybody had done anything different, it probably would have ended up even _worse_."

"You really believe that?"

"I really do."

Then Kim released Bonnies hand, and sat back in her chair with a sigh. "I'm not even sure I can blame _Shego_ anymore. That's the thing about all this, Bonnie. What happened last spring is part of what's happening right now – and that means it's bigger than all of us."

"I don't think I understood that."

"Don't worry," Kim grumped. "Neither do I."

After a moment of thoughtful silence, she raised her eyes to Bonnie's again. "So…question."

"Yeah?"

"Is that why you…did everything? Got me back on the squad? Met me at the door on the first day of school? Led all those protests?…everything?"

For a long time, Bonnie didn't answer. She just stroked Rufus and stared at the floor. That was okay. Kim was reasonably certain that she could wait her out.

Finally, Bonnie raised her head. "It started that way," she said. It was tentative, uncertain, as if she had nothing better to offer. "But now…"

Kim nodded. Good enough to start from.

"…Kim?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're not mad at me…is there something I can ask you?"

"You can ask," Kim said cautiously.

"Do those…" Bonnie waved a finger vaguely at Kim's left hand. She swallowed hard, and Kim was surprised to see her eyes glistening. "Does that hurt?"

"This?" Kim said, holding up her smooth-melted hand. Then she shook her head. "Nah. They're just scars. They suck, but there's worse suckage in the world. I'm dealing." She paused thoughtfully. "If we live through this, I'm going to stop dressing up in mummy chic. There were a couple of times last summer I almost ended up with heat stroke."

Bonnie giggled. Then her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes went wide with horror.

Kim just smiled. Thirteen years with Ron Stoppable had taught her a few tricks. "If we make it that far, you and Monique can help me pick out my new wardrobe. I've already had someone help me with my hair and nails."

Cautiously lowering her hand, Bonnie let an uncharacteristically shy smile cross her face. "I think I'd like that," she said.

"Good," Kim said, her smile fading a little and becoming reflective at the thought of Ron. It would have made him so happy to hear what she'd just – finally – managed to say. "I've had people tell me that the mummy chic isn't very flattering."

Ah, well – Rufus had smiled and shaken his clasped paws at her in a gesture of victory, and Ron would find out as soon as he got back – well, as soon as they left the room. As she'd thought before all this had started: _tres_ tacky.

There was little more to say, and the two former clashing titans of the Middleton High social scene sat in companionable silence while they waited for Ron and Mrs. Dr. P to return.

**Outside the Walls**

In Liverpool, England, eighty-six-year-old Hattie Kent was torn apart when her fifteen cats suddenly went feral.

----

In San Francisco, Jared Russel realized that, despite his promise to his girlfriend – one Amy Lister – to become a vegetarian, he still craved meat. Not just craved; it was a mad, heroin-withdrawal need. He was starving to death, and all the vegetables in the world couldn't stop the gnawing pain. But there was no meat in the house.

Except Amy.

----

Charles and Tyesha Martins, on their honeymoon in the Virgin Islands, had just begun their skinny-dip in the hidden lagoon they'd found when it suddenly started to boil.

**Mission Report**

"Kim, Ron, you'd better come take a look at the e-mail that just came in."

----

Wade -

The mission the gov't. pulled me in for failed. I'm sure it's still Top Secret – they learned their lesson from the _Republic_ fiasco – but I find myself not giving a shit.

They wanted me to build a dimensional gateway big enough to capture the approaching anomaly – hereinafter referred to by its official name: Wormwood. Tell me you didn't see that coming.

Impossible, of course. Years to build. But there are satellites up there that even you and Dr. Possible don't know about, and I was able to co-opt them, get them to project different wavelengths than they were originally designed for.

You probably noticed when we made the attempt. Power demands were obscene. Browned out the entire west coast power grid.

Created the portal on the far side of the moon, or it would have been visible from Earth. Used an upgrade of Drakken's gravitonic ray to make sure we didn't miss. Still failed. Wormwood just…there's not other word for it…reached out and crushed the portal. Almost glad it did: we almost lost the moon. Couldn't convince the brass just how much of a pyrrhic victory that would have been – earthquakes, hurricanes, etc. Don't know who's right, because Wormwood is still heading for us.

Can't give you an ETA. It varies its speed too much. But unless it stops entirely, you only have a few more days. It's past the moon.

Now convinced that your contact in Japan is right. Wormwood is either inhabited or actually alive. Varying speeds and defending itself against the portal are plenty of evidence, but there's more: it actually counterattacked. After the portal was crushed, we detected some sort of energy pulse coming back along our signals – destroyed the satellites and hit the base.

Only way to describe it: pure entropy. The base collapsed and decayed around us. I don't know who – if anyone – else got out.

Your suggestion to keep an evacuation kit packed and on hand at all times saved my life. Even so, glad it's October – couldn't have made it across the desert in summer. Barely did anyway – collapsed on the doorstep of this place called the Bunny Ranch outside Carson City. Using one of their computers to send this message.

Tell my parents I'm okay. I'll make my way back if I can. No more good for me to do here. Besides, the people are nice, but I don't feel comfortable sleeping in any of the beds. If you get any older, I'll explain it to you then.

Back in touch when I can,

Justine

**Outside the Walls**

In Delhi, India, a Gross Anatomy class dissected their instructor, who continued to give them directions as long as she was able – much longer than any of them had expected. It wasn't until they removed her heart that she finally died.

----

In the city of Ulster in Northern Ireland, the Catholics and the Protestants, from those barely old enough to toddle to the most weary and fragile of the aged, made open war in the streets. Although more than a few had paramilitary equipment stashed away, almost all preferred rocks, bricks, bottles, blades, pipes…the weapons of the riot.

The weapons of the Raver.

----

In Rome, Italy, a beautiful young woman got up off her knees, wiped her mouth, turned, and walked away from the dessicated corpse of her john.

Down the ages, as an escape from the hardships of the world and the horrors they inflicted on each other, humans had made up stories and legends that they could be afraid of and still be safe.

Now the legends were coming to life, and they weren't safe anymore. The first succubus of the modern age exited the alley and looked for more customers.

**Refugees**

Alarms sounded throughout Fortress Smarty Mart, and Steve Barkin's voice roared over the public address system: "All right, people! We have incoming! Intentions unknown! Everyone to battle stations, but nobody panic! They could be friendly!"

At the same time, the bracelet on Kim's wrist sounded the familiar four-note ringtone and the Ronnunicator started to play "The Naked Mole Rap". Ron activated his communicator and Kim's bracelet spread out to cover her arm so it could form a viewscreen on the back of her hand.

But even as Wade was saying "Kim, Ron, you've got to see this – out in the parking lot", they were already moving. After all, if they couldn't hear two sets of jet engines coming down just outside the building, then there was something seriously wrong.

----

They felt a lot better once they got outside and saw the two Yamanouchi "Ninjets" descending into an empty section of parking lot.

"It's okay!" Kim called, raising her now-armored arms to halt the Middleton Irregulars following behind her. "They're friends!"

The Irregulars lowered their weapons with a sigh of relief that was audible even over the jet engines.

"Or at least, the people who _own_ the planes are," Kim muttered nervously to Ron.

"Who could steal it from them?" Ron muttered back. "I never even figured out where they _kept_ the things."

Rufus, seated on his shoulder, chattered something.

"Oh. Well, when you put it _that_ way, it _is_ pretty obvious. Kinda cliché, though."

Then the planes touched down, and the three members of Team Possible stopped talking and put on their game faces. Help from Yamanouchi would be spankin', but despite what Ron had said, they didn't know for sure who was in those planes. Maybe Tiamat and company weren't so much for the sneaking, but a lot of villains had been freed when Global Justice had been destroyed, and there were a lot of different ways they could steal – or, more likely – disguise planes.

They tensed as the side of one of the jets opened and a set of steps folded down to the blacktop, but they relaxed when Yori descended them. For a moment.

Then they actually got a good look at her, and they started running.

"Yori!"

"My God, what happened?"

The air of somewhat knowing serenity that they'd both come to associate with the young ninja was gone. Her face was pale, except for the bruise-dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes were rumpled and torn, and her face was smudged with dirt. Her posture was as perfect as ever, but it was clear that this a result of her holding herself rigidly upright by sheer, iron will, not her usual poise. She wasn't actually shaking with exhaustion, but all three members of Team Possible could tell that it was – again – sheer will keeping her from doing so.

"Ah, Possible-san, Stoppable-san," She greeted them, her voice clear and crisp, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "It is good that you are here. We require your assistance."

"Yori, what – " Ron started to ask, but Kim cut him off.

"Of course. What do you need?"

"Sanctuary, Possible-san. Is there a place where we can take shelter?"

"We'll _find_ a place," Kim assured her.

Anticipating her command, Ron turned around. "We got refugees!" He called back to the Irregulars. "Get some blankets and food and…stuff!"

Steve Barkin nodded the affirmative and started barking commands into a walkie-talkie.

"Thank you, Stoppable-san," Yori said, then raised a communicator of her own – much more compact than a walkie-talkie – and spoke a few words in Japanese.

Immediately, children started to pour out of the planes.

"Who - ?"

"The students of Yamanouchi," Yori answered before Kim could finish.

Of course. She recognized them now. It was just hard at first – all of them were in the same condition as Yori. "How many - ?"

"One hundred and twenty-three."

"But that's, like, _all_ of them, isn't it?" Ron asked.

Yori's face clouded over. "Not quite, Stoppable-san. That would be one hundred and thirty-nine. If the faculty and staff were with us, one hundred and fifty-six. Does the size of the group change your answer?"

"Of course not," Kim said distractedly. She'd just noticed something, and she was looking over the growing crowd of children and teenagers to confirm it.

She'd been right. Not a one of them was older than Yori. A heavy ball of dread settled into her stomach as she turned back to the girl who had so recently become her friend. "Yori…what happened?"

The ninja didn't seem to hear her. Instead, she watched as the citizens of Middleton came rushing out of Smarty Mart, bearing food and first-aid kits. She waited as they bundled the younger students away, refusing to respond until the last of them disappeared around the corner of the building. Then she turned back to them, and her eyes were wild. "Did we really make it?" She asked desperately. "Are the children really safe?"

"You really did and they really are," Ron answered.

At that, Yori went eerily calm. "Good."

"But Yori – "

He didn't get his chance to repeat Kim's question, because that was when Yori collapsed to the pavement, sobbing.

----

It seemed to go on a very long time, but then, such moments always do: Kim and Ron kneeling on the blacktop, cradling the weeping girl between them in their arms as she choked out her story.

----

"_Yori."_

"_Yes, Sensei-sama."_

"_It will be your honor to lead the younger students to safety when the attack comes."_

_She bowed in acceptance. It wasn't what she wanted – what she _wanted _was to stay behind with the other advanced students and stand by Sensei's side, providing camouflage for the escape of the other students by making it seem as if the students of Yamanouchi (whose number Tiamat-sama did not know, of course) had been caught off-guard and forced to fight beside their teachers._

_It would have been an enormous honor to fight and die by the side of such a great warrior. But that had not been his command, and she would not betray her honor by disobeying. _

"_Yori…"_

"_Yes, Sensei-sama?"_

"_If my decision to include women among the students of Yamanouchi had produced no other result but you, I would still consider it a success."_

_Yori's head snapped up, her eyes wide. Sensei looked…she couldn't say. She'd never seen that look on his face before. _

"_I once told Possible-sama that it would have been 'cool' if she had been my granddaughter. Do you recall it?"_

"_I do, Sensei-sama."_

"_What I neglected to say that day was that it would have been no less 'cool' if _you_ had been."_

"_Thank you, Sensei-sama," she whispered._

_A soft smile warmed his usually stoic features. "No. Thank _you_, Yori-san."_

_Yori was still recovering from the shock of this last when Sensei's stoic mask slid back into place. "Please excuse an old man's sentimentality," he said. "When you see Stoppable-sama and Possible-sama, there is a message I wish you to deliver to them:"_

----

"I hope that you can forgive me for my deception, but if our lives are enough to buy you sufficient time, then it was the most beneficial of bargains."

"Oh, no," Kim said. No other words would come to her. "Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no."

Rufus wept while Ron just shook his head. "He really thought we wouldn't…I know we had some fights, but – "

"We hid in the caves beneath the school," Yori continued dully. She had apparently cried herself out, but she made no move to sit up out of her friends' arms. Her wild grief had apparently been replaced by a zombielike, emotion-exhausted fugue.

"Caves? I didn't know there were any caves…"

"Of course not, Ron-san. You did not need to."

"Oh."

"We stayed there for twelve hours – the length of time Sensei told us to remain hidden if we received no signal that it was safe to emerge." She swallowed hard. "We found the school destroyed. From what we could hear in the caves, it happened very quickly – perhaps Tiamat-sama did most of it herself. That was how it appeared. But some survived, to try and fight. What they _did_ to them…" She choked, and the tears started to rise in her eyes again. "Hirotaka…they…they _folded_ him!"

"Oh, no. Oh, no."

Yori's breathing hitched and wavered, but then she took a deep breath and pressed on. Despite her efforts, however, there were still silent tears cutting paths through the dirt on her face.

"We built pyres for them – what else could we do? After that, it took us some time to breach the hangars. But then we came here." It was only then that she looked up at them again, and her eyes were bright and wild. "The children are safe here, yes? I have done what Sensei asked me to do?"

"Yes and yes," Ron said gently, nodding.

"Good." Then she curled up in their arms and resumed weeping softly.

It was then that Kim felt a touch at her shoulder: "Kimmy?"

The teen hero glanced up to see her mother standing over them, holding a med-kit and looking concerned. "Is your friend…" She paused, perhaps considering the use of the word "okay" and deciding against it. "…hurt?"

"I don't think so," Kim said. "Not physically, anyway. But she's been through a lot."

"I should probably check, then."

Kim nodded, and between the three of them, they managed to get Yori to her feet, where Colleen Possible threw a blanket around her shoulders and started to lead her away: "Come on, honey, let's get you to Middleton Memorial."

Yori didn't answer, just walked on in dazed silence.

Ron waited until Yori and Mrs. Dr. P were a little distance away and other medical-assistant-looking people were gathering around them before he turned to Kim.

"Okay, this is bad. What are – "

"Go with her."

"Huh?"

She turned on him, and her eyes were hard and bright. "I said _go_ with her, Ron. Get her food, tuck her in, tell her jokes, go down on her, I don't _care_, just – "

"You don't?" Ron asked, both shocked and hurt. Standing on his shoulder, Rufus gaped at her.

Kim hesitated, then closed her eyes and shook her head. Ron knew her well enough to know that she was just clearing it, not saying "No" – which was good, because he wasn't sure whether "no" would mean _No, I don't mean that _or _No, I don't care._

When she opened her eyes, they were a bit more normal. "Whatever she needs, Ron," she said softly. "Just take care of her. She's lost everything and had to pick up the pieces herself."

Then her eyes hardened and brightened again.

"I have work to do."


	20. Eye of the Storm: SOS

**Why the Cavalry Isn't Coming**

Private Henry Bekkers sat in his guard post, feeling an odd combination of anxious and bored. The world was going to Hell in a handbasket, and weird shit was happening all over – probably more and weirder shit than the brass was telling them about – but that didn't make time pass any quicker when it was 0300 hours, you were running on coffee, and there was no chance –

There was a tap at the bulletproof glass, and Private Bekkers started. How had somebody snuck up on him like that? He was a bit distracted, but he wasn't _asleep_.

Of course, the last thing you wanted to do was _show_ that you'd been startled, so he calmly turned to the window, already beginning to say "Please present photo – "

He never finished his request for identification. The grinning, decaying face outside the window wouldn't have matched any pictures of the person it had once been anyway.

To his credit, Private Bekkers managed to rally enough to get a few shots off before he went down. More importantly, he was able to sound the alarm, so the rest of the base was not caught completely off-guard when the inhabitants of the local graveyards began to shamble through the streets.

----

There were other places where the dead rose: mass graves of ethnic-cleansing victims; the dumping-points of serial killers; plague pits – all gave up their harvest.

Were they puppets? Animated by the Unshaper's power the way the Ravers were driven by it? The very few people left on Earth who were qualified to say never got a close enough look. Considering that more than a few Ravers got up after succumbing to gunfire from the soldiers enforcing martial law and continued their attacks, it seemed likely.

Worse, they weren't alone among the human race's nightmares in coming to life as the Unshaper's power infected the world:

On the other side of the planet from Private Bekkers, Djinn and Ifrits came screaming out of the deserts.

Living zombies – mindless drones like Ravers with their fangs pulled – walked in Haiti and Louisiana.

Duppies laughed and mocked in Jamaica.

Wild Hunts rampaged across Ireland and Britain.

Lindworms crawled out of the Scandinavian mountain chain and descended on Norway and Sweden.

Mokele-mbembe slithered out of the African rain forest.

All were more hideous, more twisted, than myth had ever dared to paint them. Were they something new, humankind's dark fantasies slipping through a reality that was breaking apart? Or were they the _sources _of the myths, that had lain sleeping in the dark places of the world for untold ages, waiting for their maker to return, as the eldest children of Wannaweep had?

Only one thing was certain:

All across the world, humanity's ability to fight back was pinned down and crippled.

**Putting Out the Call**

"Monnnnty!" The heavyset woman on the other side of the computer screen wailed.

Kim watched dispassionately as DNAmy broke down weeping. She'd expected nothing less; the mad geneticist hadn't even known that her mutant beau was dead when Kim had first contacted her. What was more, Kim hadn't really given her much warning about what she was about to see.

In hopes of creating this exact reaction.

It was cruel, Kim knew. But desperate times…

"Oh, my poor Monty! That…that Meanie! That bully! That…" The fat woman raised her face from her hands, and Kim had to stop herself from jumping back. At that moment, she got a look at the true depths of DNAmy's madness. "That _bitch_!" She snarled. "That evil, murdering _whore_!"

"So you'll help?" Kim asked. If DNAmy was using that kind of potty-language, then she was more furious than Kim had ever seen her. It was just a question of focusing it.

"I'll be there!' The mad geneticist shouted. "And so will all of my babies, and so will Monty's little friends!"

"The monkey ninjas are with you?" Kim asked, startled. That was the first real surprise of the conversation.

"Where else could the poor things go?" DNAmy blubbered. "Where _can _they go, now that…that…" And then she started bawling again.

"Well, now," Kim murmured to herself as she waited for the older woman to regain her composure. "Isn't _that_ interesting…"

----

"…and it turned out that Kim was just randomly hitting buttons!"

Yori gave a wan, tired little smile – which was about a million percent happier than she'd looked when Ron had first entered the hospital room where she'd spent the night for observation.

"And has Kim-san's video game technique improved under your training, Ron-san?" She asked.

"Nah," Ron said, sitting back in his chair with a look of satisfaction. "She can't sit still that long. Sometimes I think she _really _got into the whole world-saving thing because she gets bored too easy."

"If so, don't blame her. It runs in the family."

Ron jumped. To his immense gratification, so did Rufus and Yori. Yori recovered almost instantly – she put her hands together and did her best to bow from her sitting-up-in-bed position: "Good afternoon, Possible-sama" – but he had definitely seen the startle. It was good to know that he wasn't the only one that Nana could sneak up on.

"Hi, Nana," he said, turning to face her. She wasn't wearing Kim's old battlesuit today, which suited him _just_ fine, thank you. No one's grandmother should look that hot in a skin-tight costume.

She _did_ look different, though, and not just because she was dressed in plain jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt – a look he'd never seen her wear. No it was something in her face: it was as lined as ever, but somehow, it looked only a few years older than Kim's. There was a light there that he'd never seen there before.

_He_ hadn't…but perhaps Sensei (or the late Len Possible, though he tried not to think about that too much – that way lay madness) _had_. Once again, he was in the presence of Marion Zimmer Possible, not Nana.

"Better get a move on, Sparky," she said without preamble, sticking her thumb back over her shoulder. "Kimberly's found some work for you."

"Sparky?" Ron asked as he rose to his feet.

"What _else_ should I call you after seeing you fight that big lizard?" She joked.

Apparently not one of people who'd been scared.

(Actually, he was only partly right about that. But that was then, this was now, and soldiers who didn't adjust quickly to surprises didn't live very long.)

"Work?" Ron asked as he rose out of his seat.

"I didn't ask," Nana said. "When the Man says move, you move."

"Kim is the Man now?" Ron asked, now completely perplexed. Even Rufus tilted his head and looked confused at that one.

"Just get going, Sparky."

"Right," Ron said, automatically starting for the door. Then he caught himself, and half-turned back. "Are you going to be okay?" He asked Yori. "I mean, I'll be back as soon as – "

"Go, Ron-san," Yori said, smiling. "You are needed, and I will survive until your return."

Ron blushed at that. "Right. Yes. Of course you will." Mumbling apologies and assurances as he went, he hurried off.

When he finally disappeared around the corner, Nana breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally!" She said. "I thought he would never leave."

"Possible-sama!" Yori exclaimed. "Are you saying that you _deceived _Ron-san?"

"Of course not," Nana scoffed. "Kimmie's going to call any minute. I just hurried Ron on his way a bit so we'd have a chance to talk."

Yori blinked in surprise. "You wish to speak with _me_, Possible-sama?"

"Yes, I do," Nana said crisply, sitting down where Ron had been. Then she paused for a moment, perhaps organizing her thoughts, before she began: "Yori, if the world is still here when this is over, what do you plan to do with your life?"

"I…I had honestly given it no thought, Possible-sama."

"Understandable. Staying alive has a way of taking up all of your attention."

"It does. I shall need to _give_ the matter some thought, but my first idea is that Wade-san could arrange boarding schools for us until we complete our education."

Nana didn't have to ask what Yori meant by 'us' or 'we'. The girl had been left in command, after all, and the other students were still her responsibility.

"That's not a bad idea," Nana said. "It keeps as many of you together as possible, and it avoids some of the complications that might arise with foster families. Still, I'm a bit disappointed."

"Disappointed?" Yori said, distressed. What had she overlooked? How had she fallen short?

"I was hoping that you'd help me re-establish Yamanouchi."

For a moment, Yori could only stare. "_You _wish to restore Yamanouchi?" She asked.

"There's not many people I can think of who are better qualified," Nana retorted. "And the first two who come to mind are probably going to want to finish high school here before they take on a job like that."

"Yes, but…I mean…you and Sensei were enemies!"

Nana shrugged. "Sure we were enemies. But then the war ended. Hell, as enemies go, Katsuro-san wasn't half bad. At least _he_ just tried to kill me. You have no idea how many times I had to listen to some schmuck give a detailed description of how he was going to rape me before I fed him my boots."

Yori just stared at this strange and rather frightening old woman blankly. "Katsuro-san?" She asked. It was all she could think of to say.

"He hadn't changed his name to 'Sensei' yet. I don't think that happened until he became headmaster in 1983."

"Oh." Yori took a moment to process this information, then shook her head. "I do not think that Sensei intended for Yamanouchi to be rebuilt. If the Unshaper is defeated, then our order will have served its purpose. If not…we will no longer be needed in that case, either."

Nana fixed her with a shrewd eye. "Did Katsuro-san specifically order you _not_ to re-establish the school?"

"Well…no…"

"Because even if the Unshaper is gone – and believe me, I know that we're getting _way_ ahead of ourselves, here – I think that there's still a lot of good left that you can do." She allowed that to sink in for a moment, then rose from her seat. "Just something for you to think about."

"I shall."

"Good." Nana started to turn toward the door, then stopped and turned back. "Oh. And one more thing: you probably want to get one back for your sensei and your friends. Only natural – and not even a bad idea. Just remember: if there's one thing that Katsuro-san definitely _did_ want, it's for you to stay alive. So resist your_ bushido_ instincts and at least _try_ not to get killed. Got that?"

"Yes, Possible-sama."

----

Ron stood at the edge of the Tri-City dump and called out a series of buzzing and clicking sounds. He waited a few moments, then called it out again.

After another moment, a cockroach the size of a cocker spaniel popped out of the garbage at his feet and answered with buzzing and clicking sounds of its own.

"Hey, Roachie," Ron greeted the creature, dropping to one knee in front of it. "I was wondering if you could talk to your buddies for me. We could really use your help."

----

The outside world lost all communications with the Kingdom of Rodigan between the hours of midnight and four A.M. on the morning of October 25th. E-mails and instant messages bounced; websites went down; telephone calls – both cellular and land-line – were answered with "We cannot complete your call at this time"; desperate radio transmissions were answered with nothing but screaming static.

At four A.M., websites went back up and messages started to go through again, but all attempts at communication were still met with nothing but silence. At dawn, reconnaissance and rescue teams from surrounding countries poured into the tiny kingdom.

The entire population of Rodigan had disappeared without a trace sometime in the night. Ambassadors from other countries were still there, but they were little help – the very few who were still alive were catatonic.

No one would ever know what happened in those hours of silence.

----

Gemini sat in silence as the recording of his sister's death finished playing.

Kim said nothing to break that silence as she waited for his response.

"Was there a purpose to you showing me this?" He asked at last.

"Does there have to be a purpose?" She shot back. "I just thought you should know."

"I should thank you, then," The one-eyed man said, drawing himself up. "You have allowed me to witness the final defeat of my detested sister, and the destruction of Global Justice!"

In the background, Pepe started yapping wildly, but for once, Gemini ignored him.

Kim didn't respond at first, either. She just watched the knuckles on his flesh-and-bone hand turn white as his fist clenched tighter and tighter and started to drum out a rhythm on his desk, apparently without him noticing. His bionic hand was gripping what looked like a quartz-crystal paperweight. Hard.

"I'm surprised you're so happy," she said after the moment passed. "After all, the mark didn't go in _your_ 'W' column."

"True," he agreed. "I didn't get the pleasure of defeating her myself, but it _was_ what I wanted."

_Crack!_

The paperweight broke in his hand. Startled, Pepe fell silent.

"Be careful what you wish for, I suppose," The big man whispered.

"Does that mean you're _not_ happy about it?" Kim asked innocently.

He didn't answer, just looked at his steel hand as more of the paperweight's crystals broke. In the background, Pepe whimpered.

"How would you like to do something about it?"

He raised his head, and his single eye focused on her balefully. Without saying a word, he promised horrific vengeance if she was mocking him.

Kim was unimpressed. After what she'd been through with Tiamat (who she now believed to be the _real_ perpetrator of the attack on Middleton High), Wannaweep, and her own BFBF, she could eat a middle-aged bionic man's 'horrific vengeance' for breakfast and still have room for a Bueno Nacho Breakfast Burrito. Grande-sized.

"I'm going to bring Tiamat down," She said casually. "Wanna help?"

"No," he snarled. Kim didn't let her surprise show – she'd been _sure_ she had him hooked – but she didn't have time to argue before he went on: "I don't give a damn about Tiamat – or whatever Shego's calling herself these days. It's Hego I want." He clenched his fist and crushed the paperweight to powder. "No one touches the people I love. And no one touches the people I hate but me."

Kim nodded grimly. That made sense, even if it was evil, megalomaniacal sense. "That's fair. But you _have _to know that it's a package deal. You want _either_ of 'em, we need each other's help."

Gemini opened his bionic fist and allowed the glittering sand inside to drizzle out onto his desk.

"All right," he said. "I'm listening."

----

All around the Pacific Rim, sea creatures of all kinds – not just whales and dolphins, but fish, from minnows all the way up to Great White Sharks, even squids and jellyfish – beached themselves.

Something terrible was rising up from the abyssal depths, and anything that could move was fleeing.

----

Ron stood on the tarmac at Middleton airport and watched as DNAmy and her "children" disembarked from her otterfly-shaped plane.

There was the pigman, the rhinobunny, a swarm of otterflies…

Wow. Who knew that the pandaroo could look so _mean_ if it wanted to?

"You will _never_ see a stranger sight," Ron muttered to Rufus, who was sitting on his shoulder.

"Uh-uh," Rufus agreed, shaking his head.

Then the monkey ninjas appeared, following in good order on the heels of the last living Cuddle Buddy, which happened to be a Bearret.

"Or I could be wrong."

"Uh-huh."

Then Ron took a deep breath. He was _not_ looking forward to this. "Okay," he said. "Showtime."

Almost as a single body, the monkey ninjas stopped where they were as soon as he started across the runway. Then – again, as a unit – they turned to face him when he arrived. All of them were glaring. Even Chippy looked hostile.

"Uh, hi guys. How was your flight?"

Silence. Still glaring.

Ron sighed. "Okay. You guys hate me. I'm down with that. There was the whole beat-down…"

Chippy shook his head.

"…but that's just a risk of being a warrior. I gotcha." He sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, here's the sitch: I went a little crazy this summer, and I did some things I'm not real proud of. What I did to Monkey Fist _isn't_ one of them, but what I did to you guys is."

Heads tilting. Glares lightening. A little. Curiosity. Good. At least they were still listening.

"I've been thinking about this for a while now. Since I came down from my summer freakout, basically. Monkey Fist might have been _using _the Ancient Text as a spell book to take over the world, but that wasn't all it _was_. He used that book to…how did he put it?…awaken your minds. It had the path of the Mystic Monkey Master in there. It was your _Bible_. And I burned it. In front of you. And that's just not right. The only excuse I have is that my mate was hurt, and Monkey Fist's latest attempt at a crusade was keeping me away from her."

Chippy made a sympathetic noise. The rest were starting to relax. It wasn't forgiveness or even a real break in the hostility – they were still glaring – but at least it didn't look like they were ready to pull their weapons or run away any second.

"I know that I'm not worthy to be a Monkey Master. I rejected it. Just call me Jonah. But whether I like it or you like it – and believe me, neither of us does – I am what I is. And I is a Monkey Master – the last on Earth, unless my Mystic Monkey Senses are really, _really _off. Heck, I could probably _recite _that book for you…in the original Monkey. Not that any of that makes anything right – it just makes it my responsibility to lead you into this battle that's on deck."

Now the monkey ninjas were looking at him skeptically, as if they couldn't quite believe his nerve.

"And if that's not a good enough reason to work with me, try this:"

He held up his Ronnunicator and hit "Play".

The Monkey Ninjas watched the last moments of their former master, entranced. After he'd screeched out his final command and died, and Ron had hit "stop", they turned to him, one by one.

"I may not be worthy to be a Monkey Master," Ron said quietly. "But I'm all that you've got. Who's with me?"

----

Kim had never liked Agent Will Du. Perhaps that had been unavoidable; both of them always wanted to be Mission Leader, and it's the nature of Alphas to fight for dominance when they wander into each other's territory – see her relationship with Bonnie. What made it worse was that, as far as Will Du was concerned, she wasn't even a subordinate on "his" missions – just a tagalong civilian who shouldn't even be there. What made it _unbearable_ was the fact that he didn't have the skills to back up his attitude. At least Bonnie was a good cheerleader.

She'd forgotten about all of those things when she'd seen Tiamat's "highlights video". For once, the disaster wasn't his fault, but he'd been brave and selfless in facing it. Even if Dr. Director hadn't been willing to let him, he'd been willing to sacrifice his own life. He didn't deserve what had happened – none of them did.

Seeing him now, her pity only increased. If he'd slept more than two hours a night since Dr. Director's death, Kim would eat her armor. His face was pale and haggard, his eyes bloodshot, his hair and uniform no longer quite so razor-sharp (though they were surely still Within Regulations if there _was_ such a thing anymore).

Then he opened his mouth, and she remembered why she didn't like him.

"What are you doing on this channel?" He demanded when he saw who had contacted him. "How did you even find this base?"

"Ron said once that Wade has the world wired," Kim answered coolly. "And even now, he's pretty much right. The only reason we didn't find you _sooner _is because the world is falling _apart_."

"Well, disconnect immediately," Du snapped. "You're disrupting official communications."

"With who?" Kim challenged.

He had _not_ wanted to hear that. His jaw clenched (was that a patch of bristles?), and his bloodshot eyes blazed.

"And after this crisis is over, you can believe that there'll be an investigation into you and your little hacker friend. There are some lines that you _don't_ tap!"

"Listen to you! 'After this crisis is over'…what makes you so sure that there'll _be_ an 'after' that doesn't involve the Earth becoming a new asteroid belt?"

"The authorities are at work on the problem, and – "

" – and they're completely overwhelmed," Kim finished for him. "That's why nobody has contacted you. They're too busy to notice that you're not dead."

"So instead, I should throw in with a bunch of civilians," Du sneered. "Somehow, I don't think that the experts really need advice from a pair of amateurs with delusions of grandeur. Now get – "

"This group of 'amateurs' are the only ones who've had any success _at all_," Kim retorted. "_You _were the experts, and you got torn apart – some of you literally."

Will flinched, then bristled.

"Yamanouchi were the all-time grand-master experts on this subject, and they got blown away."

His eyes went wide, and the anger on his face was replaced by shock. "Yamanouchi is _gone_?"

"Yes, it is. But while _they_ were being destroyed, _we _killed off what I guess you'd call a strike force for the Unshaper, and defeated one of its generals. Limited and local, but still the only victory that _anybody_ has against this thing. So the way I see it, _we're_ your best chance to actually do some good and maybe pay Dr. Director back for saving your life. So what's it going to be?"

----

Storms the size of continents began to form over the world's oceans – storms that rotated in the _opposite_ direction than they were supposed to – _against_ the Coriolis Force.

Meteorologists, consulting with their countries' disaster- relief agencies, admitted that they would have thought such a thing impossible. However, Wormwood was inside the moon's orbit now. Something that huge had its own gravitational pull. It made its own tides, its own weather – anything was possible now.

----

Justine Flanner arrived from Nevada on the third day after the destruction of Wannaweep. She was welcomed warmly, but with little fanfare. There was no time for it: she immediately joined the Possible menfolk and Wade at the space center where they'd been working on some mysterious project for the last two days.

----

"Ron! Get up here!"

Ron winced and hurried up the stairs to Kim's room.

He popped up through the door to find pretty much what he'd expected: Kim, sitting at her computer, a cable connecting it to the bracelet that was the Stored form of her armor, another cable connecting the bracelet to her old Kimmunicator.

Of course he'd expected it. She'd been like this for _days_. She'd walked away from Yamanouchi's ninjets in the Smarty Mart parking lot and come straight here, apparently on the theory that there were some things that the people sheltering in Smarty Mart shouldn't overhear. Pretty sharp, in Ron's opinion, but it could be taken too far.

She glared at him as he entered and waved at him to hurry up, get over here. He did.

She hit a button on her bracelet as he arrived, muting the assorted muttering and ranting noises coming from her computer's speakers (Ron had learned to tune out villain noises long ago, at least when they weren't signals of immediate personal danger).

"We've got a holdout," Kim whispered fiercely.

"I thought you said Dementor was on board," Ron said, not quite sure why they were whispering.

"He is," Kim answered. "He'll be here with an army of chrysanthemums in a few hours. It's our explosives expert – "She nodded toward the screen. "Who has a bone to pick with you."

Ron turned toward the screen and stifled a groan as Kim hit the mute button again.

"Well, hello there, laddie," Duff Killigan greeted him, grinning viciously.

"What do you want, Doof?" Ron snapped.

Killigan's grin didn't even waver. "No, no, no, no…it's not what _I _want, laddie. It's what yuir bonnie lass there wants. And what she _wants_ is muh _help_, but ah don' see any great reason to give it to her."

"The world will end if you don't. Doesn't that seem pressing enough?"

"Even if I believed you could stop that from happenin' – and ah don't," Killigan sneered. "There's still the small matter of the debt you owe me, boy."

"Funny. I don't remember signing any loan papers."

"It's a debt of honor, ye whelp!" Killigan shouted, his thin veneer of calm finally slipping. "Ya destroyed me home!"

"You were going to destroy a lot of other people's!" Ron shouted back. "While they were _in_ them!"

"But ah didn't!"

"You were gonna!"

"But ah _didn't_! You can't punish a man for somethin' he didn't _do_ yet!"

Kim was about to point out that yes, you could – conspiracy to commit, and all that – when Ron came up with a much better answer:

"And what did all those people that you were going to bury with the terraforming device do?"

Duff didn't seem to have an answer to that. After a moment, he continued, but a lot of the bluster had gone out of him.

"Me honor still demands satisfaction."

"Honor?" Ron asked – not scornfully, but this was the first he'd heard the mad golfer speak of honor. Monkey Fist, sure, but…

"Aye, me honor!" Killigan flared. "Not only did you destroy me ancestral home, you broke the rules of engagement, an' that needs answering!"

"Rules of engagement?" Kim asked. Now _both_ teens were mystified.

"Aye! This isna a game fer me, like it is fer Senior an' his nancyboy son, but there are still rules. I may try ta kill ya, but there's only so far I'll go. _You_ called _me_ yuir 'explosives expert', remember? Why d'ye think I never wired anything t' the ignition of yer mum's car?"

Kim and Ron looked at each other. This was like the meeting with Sensei and Team Go in GJ. Apparently, they'd been taking advantage of different psychological weaknesses than they thought.

If the world was still there when this was over, there might just be something to the secret identity thing…

"Tell the lassie about the time ye broke into me castle lookin' fer her library book an' I actually treated ye to me hospitality, boy!" Killigan added.

Kim quirked an eyebrow.

Ron nodded, then shuddered. "Haggis," he muttered.

Kim hid her smile. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Ron nodded, then turned back to the screen. "You're right," he said. "I _do_ owe you. Name your terms."

"Thirty-six holes, last man standing," Killigan said.

"_After_ this is all over," Ron countered.

"Done," Killigan grinned. "Honor to deal with ye both. See ye soon."

Then he was gone, and Kim's monitor was showing its otterfly-swarm screensaver.

Kim sighed in exhaustion and relief and put her face in her hands.

"You're going to cheat like hell, of course," she said after a moment of collecting her thoughts.

"Who are you and what have you done with the real KP?"

"Note serious face, Ron," Kim said, raising her head. "If you even _think_ of playing that game without magic, I will kick your ass. Cheating on math tests is one thing. Letting him play games with your life – and his – to satisfy his 'honor'? Not happening."

"Okay, KP," Ron soothed. "Will do."

Kim just sighed again and put her face back in her hands.

Ron stood there, fidgeting. Knowing that he'd contributed to this, in however small a way, didn't make him happy. He knew it was coming…wait for it…

"So you destroyed Castle Killigan." Not a question.

"It…it was a bad summer," Ron said lamely. It was the only explanation that made any sense and was still true.

Kim just sighed a third time, leaned back in her chair, and ran her fingers through her hair. "We can talk about it later, if the world's still here."

Ron just nodded, and there was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

"But there _is_ something – "

"Are you okay?" Ron burst out.

Kim paused. Looked at him. "Yes," she said warily. "Why?"

"You've been at this for days," Ron explained. "Have you even _slept_ since Yamanouchi landed?"

"I've caught a few catnaps," Kim said.

Ron frowned. "Kim…"

"I know, but there was a lot to do. We needed to find someplace to put DNAmy and her personal zoo, and _somebody_ needed to coordinate the search for Tiamat..."

"Because Gemini and Will Du, who have all the experience working with troops, couldn't do that themselves?"

Kim just looked at him.

Ron deflated. "No, I guess they couldn't."

"I've been tired before, Ron," Kim said, running her hand through her hair again. "Now that I've made the last connection I needed to make, I can pass out for a while. But there _is_ something else you can help me with. I'll understand if you don't want to, after how much Kimness I've been using the past few days, and what I said to you in the parking lot…"

"What are you talking about, KP?"

"I mean – "

"You didn't say _anything _to me in the parking lot," He overrode her. "Not a word."

She flashed a smile at him, then looked back at her computer. "So, like I said, I've been tired before. But I've never been this horny in my entire life."

Ron's eyes flew open. That was _not_ what he'd been expecting.

Now she looked up at him, full and steady in the face, and he understood why she'd kept looking away before. What he saw in her eyes, beneath the exhaustion, was so wild and fierce that he had no name for it. He almost had to look away – which was no doubt what she'd feared.

When she spoke again, her voice was trembling:

"It's like my whole body is scared, not just my mind, and it's screaming 'Need Life Need Sex Need to Mate' at me over and over again, like it knows that there's not much time and I need to touch somebody, hold somebody, feel their skin on my skin, like I – "

"Need to feel alive," Ron said, his own voice deep and husky.

Their eyes met, and their minds dissolved as Life took over.

No more thoughts, just senses:

Pulling clothes away. Tearing?

Desperate kisses, unbrushed teeth, not caring.

Salty taste, licking, sucking, even biting whatever comes in reach, lingering when the moans come.

Musk like the scent of sun-warmed earth.

Clutching sheets.

Turning. Rolling. On top, pressing him down into the mattress. Then beneath, her legs wrap around tight, squeezing, pressing, trying to mold flesh and bone into one unit.

Tears, completely unheeded, trickle and drip and mingle with sweat.

Moans, then cries, building to growls and howls and finally shrieks and roars.

And then, from the screaming red carnal peaks, they descended into the midnight blue.

**Incoming Transmission**

They both blinked awake at approximately the same time.

"mmmWhere are we?" Kim asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Then she opened them fully, after which she sat up _very _abruptly and looked around wildly. "No, seriously, where are we?" She demanded.

"Looks like…_Yamanouchi_?" Ron exclaimed.

It did.

Instead of awakening in Kim Possible's disheveled blankets, they were beneath the blossoming branches of a cherry tree, in an out-of-the-way grove where they'd often gone during their time at the ninja school to escape the crowds that had always materialized from nowhere whenever Ron had appeared in public. The familiar buildings were all around them, and the sun had either just set or was just about to come up, because the school was covered in a soft gray twilight.

What was more, they were both dressed in _gis_: Kim's white, Ron's black with a golden monkey crest on the lapels and – as Kim saw when he got up on his knees to look around – the back.

"Did everything…was it all…Wannaweep, Gil, the Ravers…was it all just a _dream_?" Ron asked, still looking wildly around the school.

"No," Kim said sadly as she caught sight of her hands. "I think _this_ is the dream."

"What do you – oh." Ron's question had answered itself as soon as he'd turned back to her.

She was perfect. Not a mark, not a scar, not even the freckles or (few, small, rare, just barely possible) zits that would have been exposed by her lack of makeup in the waking world. It was like last spring had never happened – and Ron had spent too much time _wishing_ that that had been a dream to be fooled into thinking that it actually had been.

"Indeed it is, Possible-sama."

Both of them whipped toward the new voice. Not because it was threatening – it was actually quite mild – but because they'd thought they were alone.

A man that they didn't recognize was coming down the path toward them. He was dressed in a black _gi_ and he was much too old to be a student – maybe thirty or so – but considering that Yamanouchi's faculty numbered around twenty, they probably would have remembered him if he'd been a teacher. They _especially_ would have remembered a man that small: Kim had about two inches on him in height.

"I apologize if the differences from the waking world distress you," he said as he arrived, "But the dream is shaped by my presence, and you now _appear_ as I always perceived you to _be_."

"I'm flattered," Kim said as she warily climbed to her feet. "But – "

"But who _are_ you?" Ron demanded as he stood up beside her. "And what are you doing in our dream? And when did I get so casual talking about 'our' dreams?"

The man just looked amused. "I must confess myself disappointed, Stoppable-sama," he said. "I may look and even sound different than I did, but you have senses that should not be so easily fooled, even in dreams."

They both just kept looking at him.

"I was not born old," he said. "Why should I dream myself that way?"

Another moment, and then Ron got it: "Sensei?" He gasped.

Sensei nodded, his smile broadening. "As I appeared before I took that name, but yes."

"But…" Kim protested. "You're dead."

"So I am," Sensei answered mildly. "But in the end, it makes little difference."

"Little difference?" Kim asked, agog.

"If my spirit could leave my body when I lived, why should it not persist now that my body is destroyed?"

"He has a point, KP," Ron said.

She stared at him.

"I apologize for my intrusion," Sensei continued, drawing their attention back to himself. "But dreams are much easier to influence than physical reality, and I must husband my resources very carefully, now that I have no way to renew them."

"Resources?" Kim asked. If she could deal with magic, she could deal with ghosts, but it would be easier if she could get it into terms she was comfortable with.

"Every moment of continued existence burns away a little more of my strength, Possible-sama, and I must conserve as much of it as I can for the two tasks I have yet to perform. One of those tasks is not for you to know," he continued, before they could ask. "But the other – "

"Is to tell us what the prophecy is really all about?" Ron guessed.

Sensei looked at him. His expression was still mild, but he was clearly annoyed by the interruption.

"What?" Ron said. "You think I didn't _notice_ that you never told us?"

"I didn't tell you, Stoppable-sama," Sensei said with Very Deliberate Patience, "Because the final words of the prophecy spoke of how the last army of light would sacrifice itself to protect your escape with the Lotus Blade to your homeland beyond the setting sun, where you would be forced to raise your own arm and ally it to the armies of darkness to have any hope of triumph. I had reason to believe that you would attempt to defy the prophecy if you knew of it, and so doom yourselves."

Kim and Ron looked at each other.

"I guess you did," Ron admitted.

"In any case, Stoppable-sama," Sensei continued. "The prophecy is no further use to you."

"No further – ?"

Sensei shook his head as he took a few steps and sat down on a rock at the edge of the grove.

"No. You have come to the place where all prophecies fail."

Kim's eyes widened. "The Event Horizon!" She exclaimed.

"Indeed," Sensei nodded. "No one has ever been able to see beyond this point. Now, the key to the future lies in the past: the past of the Dreams, and the past of the Myths."

Almost unconsciously, the two teen heroes sat down in front of him, as they had during their time at Yamanouchi.

"When first I spoke of the Unshaper," Sensei went on, "I told you that it was the truth behind many myths of the god-monster, yes? The beast of chaos at the beginning of the world."

"Riiiiight," Ron said, nodding slowly. "But suppose Kim didn't get the significance."

Kim rolled her eyes, but Sensei's face gave just the tiniest, most hidden hint of amusement.

"If that were the case, Stoppable-sama, I would explain that many of those myths share a common theme."

For a moment, it looked like a transparent image of the tiny old man they knew was being superimposed over the small but fit young man before them. Sensei was slipping into the teacher persona that he had worn for so long.

"Ouranos is the husband of Gaea," he began. "He finds their elder children – the hundred-handed ones and the Cyclopes – to be repulsive, so he forces them back into her body – "

"The Earth," Ron said.

Sensei nodded.

"Just checkin'."

"This caused her terrible pain," Sensei went on.

"I'll bet it did," Kim muttered, wincing and touching her own abdomen.

" – but he continued to force himself upon her. Finally, she could stand it no more, and she gave one of her beautiful children, the titan Kronos, a flint sickle. The next night, when Ouranos returned, Kronos castrated him – "

Now it was Ron's turn to wince.

" – And drove him away, thus becoming king of the gods himself for a time. The story continues beyond that, but it is at that point that we lose interest."

"We do?" Ron asked.

"Yes. Instead, we become interested in the story of Tiamat – the _original_ Tiamat. She is leading an army of elder gods, demons, and monsters against the younger gods in an attempt to destroy the world and return to the peace before she gave birth to Creation. The younger gods are losing, largely because they dare not face their invincible ancestress. Then, one of the youngest gods, Marduk, offers to defeat her if they make him their king. Having nothing to lose, they agree. After his coronation, he goes forth to face Tiamat in battle. She takes the form of a great dragon and tries to frighten him with a roar that has never failed to terrify her opponents. Instead, Marduk – who is a sky god – uses winds to hold her mouth open, and fires arrows down her throat and into her heart – the only vulnerable part of her body – until he finally kills her. Do you see it?"

"I do," Kim said.

"You see it?" Ron said. " 'Cause I don't see it. What do you see?"

"The Unshaper would be unbeatable, except that it keeps _making_ itself vulnerable," Kim explained.

"By trying to enforce its will upon the world instead of simply attacking," Sensei finished for her. "It is its connection to the Earth that makes it vulnerable. You have perhaps heard the story of the great warrior Achilles, and his vulnerable heel?"

"_That_ one I've heard," Ron said.

Kim, on the other hand, was looking suddenly stricken. "All I had to do was nothing," she said.

"Your pardon, Possible-sama?" Sensei said as both he and Ron turned to her.

"If I'd just let Shego die, let her kill herself," Kim explained, starting to choke up, "Then none of this would be happening."

"You may be right, Possible-sama," Sensei said gravely. Ron stared at him, shocked, as Kim bowed her head. "If, in fact, you had allowed Sheila-san to die, and the Unshaper was unable to use her brothers for its purpose – "

Kim's head jerked up. In thinking of them as Tiamat's victims, she'd forgotten that the male members of Team Go had their _own_ connection to the Unshaper.

" – which may or may not have been the case. It invested a great deal of time and energy into Sheila-san to create Tiamat-sama. In any event, if that had come to pass, then the Unshaper's connection to Earth would indeed have been broken – and all hope would now be gone."

Kim just blinked and stared, still unable to muster words, but Ron held up a hand: "Excuse me while I say 'huh'?"

"If the two of you had simply allowed Sheila-san to die, Stoppable-sama, it would have cost you both things that you now need. You would have had to kill parts of yourselves on the spot to allow it to happen, and the guilt may have driven you apart, especially if only one of you felt it. On a more concrete level, the Lotus Blade would not respond to you if your heart was no longer pure."

Now it was Ron's turn to look stunned.

"More importantly," Sensei continued. "Simply breaking the connection would have harmed the Unshaper not at all. Using the connection against it is nowhere near that simple."

Then he fixed Kim with a very direct and stern gaze. "So you will now please let go of the groundless guilt that has been driving you to an early grave since you learned of what happened at Yamanouchi. The Unshaper could have destroyed this world without ever exposing itself to attack. But in its cruelty, in its greed, in sending an agent and creating a connection, it has made itself vulnerable. Your mercy has given us our one chance."

Kim raised her hands to her mouth and made a strange sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh. Whether it was grief, joy, or simple relief, she couldn't have said.

Ron put an arm around her and it felt like forgiveness.

"I think we've had this conversation a couple times already," he whispered, his voice mostly joke with just the slightest touch of scold. "Only you were sitting where I am and I was sitting where you are."

She made the noise again, and her vision blurred. She wanted to cry so very much at that moment. It would be such a relief, such a release, this terrible pressure in her chest and behind her eyes would go away…but there was no time. One of them could wake up at any moment, or Sensei could fade away. Who knew how much strength he had left? If there was a later, she could do it then.

"So how do we do it?" She asked, wiping her eyes and shaking herself. "How do we fight this thing? I'm hoping that the arrows and the flint sickle aren't literal."

"I do not know, Possible-sama," Sensei said. "I have already told you all that I was able to glean from the legends."

"The dreams, then," Ron said. "What did the dreams tell you?"

"The dreams told me nothing, Stoppable-sama," Sensei answered. "They do not speak to me. They are for you alone – to prepare you, to help you remember."

"Remember what?"

"I do not know, Stoppable-sama," Sensei answered, almost whimsically. "It is _you_ who must remember it."

Ron smacked the heel of his palm to his forehead. "Oh, that's a big help."

"You no longer _need_ my help," Sensei retorted. "I told you once what I believe, Stoppable-sama. When the time comes, you will know what you need to do. At that point, all you will require is the courage to do it. And that," he stood up from his rock. "Is all that I can tell you. Now you must go. Once Tiamat-sama knew that you had accepted the Lotus Blade, she went to ground. She had no desire to face the two of you and the Blade until she was ready – but now she is. You have no more time. You must awaken."

"Wait!" Kim cried, leaping to her feet as the dream started to fade. "How can we – we don't even know where Tiamat _is_! We've been searching, but – "

"Ah," Sensei said, smiling as he faded out. "But that is one question that is actually _easy _to answer, Possible-sama. Tiamat-sama must perform her ritual on the spot where the Unshaper first touched the world this time: the first place where a man destroyed his knowledge because he could not bear what he had learned; destroyed his eyes because he could not bear what he had seen; and finally destroyed himself because he could not bear to live in the new world he had discovered."

----

Kim and Ron both sat up abruptly in bed. Then their heads snapped toward each other, and both of their faces were masks of astonishment, eyes wide and mouths gaping.

Ron was the first to muster his voice: "Do you have _any _idea what he was talking about?"

"Yes," Kim said, already rallying, returning to businesslike. She swung her feet out of bed and started picking clothes up off the floor. "I remember that day – _you _remember it, you just don't _remember_ that you remember. Dad came home from work early, all upset, but said he couldn't tell us why, every police officer in town was going crazy, but they wouldn't call us…Wade gave me the details later…he was looking pretty sick at the time…and maybe that's a _good _thing, maybe he won't be quite so eager to go digging around _everywhere_ just because he can…"

"KP, I'm used to your hyper and you _still_ lost me at 'yes'."

"Remember Dr. Harris?" Kim said as she pulled on her underpants.

"Of course I do, he's the guy who…" His eyes widened with dawning comprehension and horror. "…oh."

"Exactly," Kim said, fastening her bra behind her back. "He's the guy who. Better get your clothes on. They're coming _here_."

**No Shelter**

The Sun didn't come up that morning. That was no great surprise: the stars had disappeared at some point during the night. Something dark and unimaginably vast was blocking the sky. No great wonder that the Sun couldn't get through.

Kim looked around at her forces. They'd worked through the night to build the fortifications around the Space Center, but none of them looked tired. They were still too keyed-up.

Not many of the Middleton Irregulars had come. Defending your family against a horde of monsters was one thing. Stopping the Horsemen of the Apocalypse from getting into an empty building? Something different.

Part of her wished that there were more of them, but a much larger part was glad that they weren't there. Many of of those who _were_ there, she wished they weren't. Her father. Slim. Nana. _Sure_ they could handle themselves – in a normal fight – but she couldn't help but wish that they were back at the hospital with her mother, Joss, and the Tweebs, preparing for the influx of wounded.

Horsemen of the Apocalypse and all that.

And then there were her friends and peers. She'd actually tried to talk some of them out of it, but she'd universally failed: Monique (_"Monique, you don't have to do this – " "BS, GF. I'm not staying behind and waiting to find out what happens while you risk your life for all of us _again_. IICDSIW."_), with Felix sitting beside her (_"It means 'If I Can Do Something, I Will.' And it goes for me, too." "But…oh, never mind. I always lose this argument with you."_)…Felix's _mom_, surprisingly enough, in what looked like powered armor (_robotics experts…_)…Bonnie…Brick…Tara…Josh…the Detention Crew…

All of the people she'd tried to protect from something like this.

She tried not to think about it as she turned her attention to the rest of her army. Cuddle buddies. Mutant flowers. Monkey Ninjas. A few of the survivors of Yamanouchi, led by Yori.

Against Tiamat and her army. And the thing in the sky.

Seeming to sense her thoughts – as he so often seemed to – Ron caught and squeezed her hand. She flashed him a quick, forced smile.

It would work. It had to. They'd find a way.

She scanned the horizon for the hundredth time. Or was it the thousandth?

Where would the attack come from? Would they come marching across the ground? Descend from that black sky like gods descending from a Heaven worse than any Hell? She didn't think Tiamat would be on board with coming up from under the earth, even if Abbadon made that possible, but that really depended on how much of Shego was left.

Then the air split open, and she had her answer.

She'd forgotten. They all had. They weren't just dealing with Tiamat and Team Go. They were dealing with Drew Lipsky, once Dr. Drakken, now _the _Drakken forever and ever, world without end, hallelujah, amen. God help them.

A ring of sizzling energy irised open two hundred yards or so in front of her, cutting into the ground as it expanded until it was large enough to swallow a commercial aircraft.

The Drakken's hover-saucer emerged from the ring's glowing center, cruising at a stately pace and slow. The Drakken sat at the controls while Tiamat stood behind him. She still wore her uniform, but her hair was once again a crown of green and black fire, and her eyes blazed forth green light.

On the ground beneath them marched Tiamat's army, Abaddon and Behemoth in the vanguard, less human than ever: Abaddon was completely covered by a bony carapace; blue flame wreathed the bony claws that his hands had become and billowed out of his gaping jaws and eye-sockets. Behemoth expanded and contracted constantly, bulging in one spot to shrink in another, purple light throbbing visibly in his veins. Behind them, hopping, skittering, slithering, flapping, came the endless Legion, each of their eyes glowing red.

And with Legion came the remnants of the Drakken's own army, his offering to his mistress, the Shining One who had roared and smote in the emptiness before Creation – Diablos, Beebees, and synthodrones.

A hundred yards out, the hover-saucer slowed to a halt, and the army beneath it followed suit. Even at this distance, they could tell that Tiamat was grinning, as green light shone through her daggered teeth.

"Get out of the way, Princess," Tiamat said, the voice that they'd heard on the "highlights reel" – the deep, thundering, inhuman voice that speaking words in no earthly language – rumbling behind her word, "And take your little cops-and-robbers playgroup with you. You'll all get to live a few minutes longer."

Kim looked at her friends and allies. Then she looked at Ron. He nodded and squeezed her hand. She did the same, let go of his hand, and stepped forward.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said her words. Her hands filled with red fire.

She opened her eyes, looked out across the lawn at Tiamat – who had already lost her grin – and raised her blades.

"So not going to happen."


	21. Final Interlude: The Last Task

In a laboratory high above the Earth, Frederick looked out a view port and sadly watched the world fall apart.

He'd been in no better condition himself, not so long ago. He'd spent days in a berserk rage, smashing everything he could break, hurling everything he could move, and biting everything else.

Then his friend had arrived.

Frederick didn't know what the strange, small human had done to him, but his frenzy had left him as suddenly and completely as it came.

At first, Frederick was frightened of the strange human, with the way he was sometimes young and sometimes old, and the way Frederick could see him and hear him, but not smell or touch him.

He got over it rather quickly, though. It helped that the strange human felt so much like his Ron-friend. Besides, humans were always weird.

His friend had been gone for a while now, and Frederick was starting to get worried. Even if his friend couldn't be touched, that didn't mean that he was safe. _No one_ was safe anymore. Things were bad down there.

Frederick very deliberately Didn't Look at the vast thing that was approaching from moonward, and tried not to think about how bad things were up _here_.

Then his friend was back, as suddenly as he had gone.

Frederick hooted a greeting.

"Hello, little friend," Sensei greeted him.

Frederick chittered a question.

"It went well," Sensei answered. "They now have all that I had to give them. All we can do now is do our part, and place our faith in them."

Frederick whimpered.

Sensei sighed. "I know, Frederick-san. If there were an escape to be made, I would most assuredly tell you how to make it. But there is none, for we are in its path, and it will surely destroy us on its way to our friends."

Frederick whimpered again.

"Sometimes, Frederick-san, the only choice left to those such as we is when and where we make our stand." He paused. "Would it help if I told you that I am also frightened?"

Frederick considered that. Then he took a deep breath and stood up straighter as he nodded and growled.

Sensei smiled. "Good. Now come, my friend. Let us be the first shot fired in this war."

With another nod, Frederick turned and knuckle-walked to his station.

In his frenzy, he had torn up furniture and space suits; smashed experiments and lab equipment and some of the more delicate electronics.

But somehow, as if by pure chance, he had left the navigational equipment untouched.

The tiny astronaut sat down in the gutted navigation chair and typed in a new course.

The space station's Earthward thrusters fired, changing its course and breaking it out of orbit. Now, instead of simply orbiting their way into the Unshaper's path, to be swallowed up broadside like the satellites and random bits of space-junk that were already starting to fall into the vast entity's gravity well, they were plunging toward it head-on.

Frederick didn't look out any of the view ports. He didn't need his new friend to tell him that he wouldn't survive that. Intelligent as he was, Frederick was still an animal, and he could sense the thing-that-will-kill-you. And unlike humans, Frederick didn't defy his instincts out of sheer contrariness. This was the biggest thing-that-will-kill-you of all, and you didn't look something like that in the eye. There was no such thing as winning that challenge.

Instead, he looked at his instruments, and what he saw there was scary enough. If a human had been in the space station, a human able to read and understand the data scrolling across the screens, that alone might have been enough to leave them whimpering in a corner, hiding their eyes.

Radiation from spectra that humanity had never encountered pouring out at stellar levels.

Temperature readings approaching Absolute Zero and the surface of the Sun. Simultaneously.

Spectrographic readings that went past bizarre and into the realm of pure fantasy. It was impossible to even be sure if the…thing…in front of him was matter, and if so, what state that matter was in.

And at the core of this writhing nuclear chaos was…Nothing.

Not empty space – energy and matter pass through empty space. This was Nothing. An absolute void. An immense blank spot in the middle of the instruments' fields of vision.

Frederick was fortunate enough to not be able to understand just how impossible that was.

He was still terrified. The sense of thing-that-will-kill-you grew stronger by the second, and he wanted to run screaming, as little use as that would be. Instead, he sat grimly in the navigational chair and continued to work the controls.

Frederick had no real concept of good or evil – not in any kind of abstract, big-picture way. If the experiments he'd been trained to carry out had involved testing weapons instead of satisfying the curiosity of schoolchildren, he would have gone about them with equal zeal. But he _did_ understand "friends", and he knew that the thing-that-will-kill-you would get to his friends on Earth before they could fight back if he didn't do this.

He hit a few more keys. Maximum thrust – which wasn't much. The space station had never been intended to go anywhere on its own power. It had been built in orbit and left there. If Frederick hadn't fired the thrusters at the exact right moment to use the orbital momentum as a slingshot, he would still be in orbit, waiting for the thing-that-will-kill-you to come for him.

Still. Everything he had was firing.

Then something started to happen. It took a moment for Frederick to realize, but then he saw it: the equipment panel in front of him was corroding.

Across the room, a monitor cracked, then collapsed in a shower of sparks.

In the lab, a tableful of chemicals burst into flame and everything in the petri dishes and cages died.

The thing-that-will-kill-you's venom was sinking into the substance of the station itself. Frederick could feel it sinking into him, as well, could feel himself growing sick and weak.

It didn't matter anymore. He'd felt the shift. Earth's gravity had left off, and the Thing's had taken over. They were no longer _flying_ toward the thing-that-will-kill-you, they were _falling_ toward it.

That was it, then. There was nothing left for him to do.

Wait. There was _one_ thing.

It was pretty much pointless. The additional force of impact would be infinitesimal. Still, every little bit helped. If it made the thing-that-will-kill-your-friends hurt even a little bit more, it was worth it.

With a growl of defiance, he vented the air tanks.

And then he died as a tentacle of pure unMaking the size of the Mississippi river swatted the space station into its component atoms.

----

_Forgive me, my brave little friend. But I could not have gotten so close without your aid. We may yet buy time and opportunity for our friends – but we are destined not to know._

----

Frederick had not – could not have – understood the true nature of the attack that he and his strange human friend were mounting on the great thing-that-will-kill-you. He'd known that, however hard he pushed it, the space station had no chance of destroying something so huge. But then, a single bullet didn't "destroy" a human body.

What he didn't – couldn't – understand was that he wasn't _riding_ a bullet. By itself, the space station wasn't a bullet, but a mosquito.

By itself.

The man who had been born Yamamoto Katsuro had dedicated his life to his students, and preparation for a battle that he had every reason to believe would never happen. He had, without thinking twice, surrendered the most precious and powerful object in his possession to a young man from the country that had defeated his own, in the war he had fought and lost, because that was the sword's destiny, and the young man's. He had sacrificed everything he loved, everything he had built, just to buy time for that young man, and for the granddaughter of his most persistent enemy from the old days, so they could be the ones to save the world. And he had done all of this with the name "Sensei" masking his own, so that he could not distract himself with the search for glory.

In the normal course of things, he might have become a bodhisattva. He would never know. And he didn't care. What he was doing now was far more important.

While Frederick had piloted the space station on its kamikaze charge for the Unshaper, Sensei had allowed his carefully-marshaled power to expand and soak into the steel, plastic, glass, and electricity that formed the space station. In every way that mattered, he and the machine had become one.

_That_ was what made it a bullet instead of a mosquito.

It wasn't something he could have explained to Frederick. It wasn't something a monkey, however intelligent, could understand.

The Unshaper, however, _did_ understand…in the last fraction of a second before its tentacle connected, when the crashing space station burst into golden flame. But by then it was too late.

It writhed and roared – in its way – as the golden fire of Sensei's power bored into its substance and spread across its vast surface like a burning oilslick, and for the second time in forever the Unshaper experienced pain. One of these pathetic, insignificant blobs of writhing, mewling slime had _hurt_ it.

Again.

It lashed out with its power, trying to drive the blazing humansoul _away_, but Sensei dug in like a tick, burned in like acid, and for a moment, he held. For a moment, the flames blazed higher and higher, and the Unshaper writhed and roared.

But in the end, a moment was all it could be. He was still just a man, and the Unshaper was the Unshaper, and it was in no more true danger than a man bitten by a particularly vicious insect.

The moment passed, and the flames flickered and sank and finally went out. And as the last power of his mighty soul was spent, the man that generations of Yamanouchi students had known only as Sensei finally, truly died.

But Sensei had not been his original name. Once, he had been Katsuro, a name that means "Victorious Son", and in death, he had truly found a measure of victory.

For the moment that it was focused on defending itself, the Unshaper's power on Earth…_flickered_. Megastorms paused in their rotation and grew wispy at the edges. Tectonic plates shifting into a configuration that humanity would not survive ground to a momentary halt. The human race's nightmares hesitated in their advance.

And a single soul, buried alive and slowly smothering, broke free of its prison.


	22. Category Six

Her challenge made, Kim Possible braced herself, watching and waiting for the right moment. She would only get one shot at this.

_Wait for it…wait for it…_

Last night, she'd hooked her armor up to one of her brothers' fusion experiments until it was charged well past redline. The battlesuit was almost as much of a danger as a defense right now, but it had to be done.

_Damn. Tiamat's body language is just enough like Shego's to be seriously disturbing, but not enough to be useful. _

She was gambling everyone she loved on the hope that one of her shields, combined with Ron's magic, could withstand just _one_ of Tiamat's blasts.

_Do NOT mess this up!_

But that _also_ had to be done, if the plan was to have any chance at all.

_Keep watching…_

But then, without an order being spoken, Tiamat's footsoldiers started to advance.

Shit. That was new. According to all reports, Tiamat _always _started a fight by firing off a few rounds of artillery. Was she conserving her power for something? Or could she actually fire her blasts into a melee without hurting her own troops? No, that didn't make any sense – maybe Team Go was immune to Tiamat's blasts, but The Drakken's weapons weren't.

_Okay, new plan. Fast._

But then something happened that rendered all plans moot.

----

Tiamat watched in satisfaction as her army advanced. Her brothers and The Drakken's toys would destroy the Magician and the Warrior and all of the rest of these annoying little insects without her lifting a finger, leaving her free to open the gate.

That little twinge of a headache she'd felt a moment ago meant nothing. At first, she'd thought it might be some sort of attack, but no. Just weakness of the flesh. And soon, she'd shed the flesh like a snake shedding its skin.

Her time had come round at last.

Then the hover-saucer jolted to a halt.

Annoyed at this interruption of her triumphal procession, Tiamat glared at her vizier where he sat at the controls, his tiny fingers racing across the keyboard.

"What's the problem now, Drakken?" She snapped, sounding remarkably like the old Shego. For some reason, his shoulders began to shake.

"Well?" She demanded.

"The problem?" he asked as his fingers finished their race and hit the "Enter" key. "The problem is that…" He suddenly jerked his arms up and slammed his small fists down on the keyboard, crushing the delicate equipment. "_You killed Sheila!_" He screamed. Then he whirled on her and she saw why his shoulders were shaking as she saw the tears dripping down the

healthy.

Pink.

Skin.

of his face.

"You evil, murderous _bitch_!" He shrieked, launching himself out of his chair and at her.

He was no threat to her, of course, but she backhanded him away by pure reflex, sending him over the side.

With a shout of chagrin, she lunged to catch him, but it was already too late. All she could do was clutch the rail and watch as he plummeted fifty feet to the ground, where he disappeared amidst the press of Legion.

"Stupid child," she snarled. "Why did you make me kill you when you were still useful?"

That was when an alarm started to sound from the control panel.

She whipped around to see that the entire console was lit up like a Vegas casino. Alerts flashed and beeped around the smashed controls, and a particularly dire warning that she now had no means of preventing scrolled across the screen. As she realized what was happening, what the Drakken had done, she let out a roar that had no semblance to any sound that a human could possibly make.

Drew Lipsky had been more of a threat than she'd thought.

----

"Kim!" Wade's voice crackled in her ear. "I didn't get the signal! You haven't gone Shell! What's happening out there?"

That was a good question.

Drakken had fallen over the side of the hover-saucer and tumbled to the ground like a man-sized blue rag doll.

"Is the plan still a go? What's going on?"

"Hold on, Wade, please and thank you."

The rip in the air was irising shut, slicing diablos and Legion creatures in two as clean as a razor. A synthodrone fell into a shapeless heap, spilling half of its green innards on the late-fall grass.

"Kim?"

The hover-saucer was jittering and shaking in the air, with Tiamat – still blazing and flaming, but somehow less invincible than before – clinging to the side. On the ground, Drakken's army had come to a sudden halt.

"Kim? Justine is getting the weirdest readings… "

And that was when all Hell broke loose.

The afterburners on the hover-saucer fired, launching it forward, completely out of control. On the ground, the synthodrones, beebees and diablos suddenly turned and attacked the Legion.

"What the _hell_?" Someone exclaimed as Tiamat's chariot roared over their heads, spinning and spiraling wildly until it crashed down into the space center.

Kim didn't give it much attention. There was no way that Tiamat was dead, explosions and smoke and fire aside. They were nowhere near that lucky. But she had to focus on the _immediate_ threat instead of the ultimate one for the moment. They couldn't stop Tiamat if they'd been torn in half by Abaddon, so eyes front.

Tiamat's army had apparently planned to use The Drakken's for flankers, so now the automated forces were coming at them from both directions. They were caught in the vice that they had intended for their enemies. Beebees buzzed among them at near-invisible speeds as diablos uncased their buzz-saws and energy throwers. Synthodrones, with less to offer in the way of sheer offensive power, still waded gamely into the Legion, swinging their fists.

Still, even with their tactical disadvantage, it was only a matter of time before Team Go triumphed. Here, Abaddon smashed a Diablo; there, Behemoth extended his arms to catch three beebees; and of course, Legion was endless.

She was running out of time to take advantage of this.

"New signal, Wade," she said grimly, raising her hands. "You'll know it when you see it."

Before, her hands had been open, ready to raise the Shell. Now they closed into fists.

She took a deep breath. This had been tearing her up inside all night. Could she really do this? She'd been afraid she'd have to, and now the moment had come. So soon.

She wasn't even sure she _could_ hurt Abaddon or Behemoth…Hector or Miguel…but Jesus and Jaime Gomez were probably no less vulnerable than any other member of Legion, and if one of them died, then the infinite Legion might be cut in half.

If.

Could she?

She'd gambled her family. She had to. Against these enemies, there was no holding back or setting to stun. No second chances – if they got one, she wouldn't.

She felt a light touch on her back. Somebody braving the blue-white sparks of energy arcing continuously around her overcharged armor.

She knew who it was. Even if it was possible that it was someone else – which it wasn't, no one else could have touched her safely at that moment – she knew the _feel_ of him now, the sense of his presence, without even looking.

It was a little freaky.

For once, his touch didn't make her feel good. Nothing would, at that moment. But it was enough.

She took another deep breath, raised her hands a little higher, clenched her fists a little tighter, and screamed:

"_BLAST!"_

----

In a nondescript house in Middleton, in a bedroom stuffed to the rafters with computer equipment, the three members of the Middleton Irregulars Communication Corps could only stare at their monitors.

"_Connnyo…_" Zita.

"I didn't know that armor could _do_ that." Justine.

"It can't. But Kim is wearing it. That makes all the difference." Wade, his thick fingers already racing from one keyboard to the next. "Come on, that's our signal. Let's get 'em moving."

----

Kim looked upon her handiwork and tried not to throw up.

An arc of scorched earth and destruction stretched out before her, cutting Tiamat's army in two. Abaddon and Behemoth were nowhere to be seen, and a good third of Legion was down. The ones that she'd killed had simply disintegrated, but there were some that she _hadn't_ killed, lying on the ground, screaming, burned, missing twisted limbs.

Were Jesus or Jaime Gomez among them? Would she even be able to tell?

_They weren't Jesus and Jaime Gomez anymore, _She told herself. Or tried to._ They were Legion. They weren't people anymore. They were monsters._ This time, the talismanic word didn't have the power that it usually did. This time the rage didn't come, and she was left feeling sick.

_I had to. My family…my friends… _

Then there was the familiar touch again. She glanced back over her shoulder, but for some reason, she couldn't see Ron very well. Her vision was all cloudy and shimmery.

"There was no other way this time, KP," he said softly.

_No other way._

"I know," she said – or tried to, but her voice broke and she had to try again. "I know." She wiped her eyes and left the "I just wish" unspoken as she turned back to where Drakken's army was slowly closing in on the remains of Legion.

"It couldn't really be that simple, could it?" Monique asked as she joined them, The Richter in hand and Felix following close behind.

Suddenly, from within the crowd of robots and synthodrones, there came a single banshee shriek of demonic rage. It was immediately joined by another, and then another and another, each matching the original so perfectly that it seemed like a single voice was rising and rising and rising.

And with the shriek, there came a blaze of red light shining out between Drakken's constructs. It rose with the sound, throbbing, pulsing, growing.

And then it exploded.

Legion erupted out of the press, pouring over the remains of Drakken's army like a flood while a horde of fliers geysered into the sky, all of their eyes blazing red.

"No, it couldn't," Ron answered, raising the Lotus Blade.

"Not yet, buddy," Felix said. "My turn first." With that, he pulled back on his controls and launched his chair skyward, activating his tentacles and moving to meet the Legion-swarm in the air.

Startled, the Legion creatures actually pulled up short, flapping awkwardly as they tried to avoid crashing into this unexpected obstacle.

Then the moment passed, and they started forward again, some growling and hissing, some cackling.

Which was when they were hit broadside by WEE and the survivors of Global Justice.

Felix grinned savagely. "Watched the wrong hand, assholes."

----

The two secret armies drove into the Legion fliers like a plowblade into fresh snow, raining ash and caustic slime upon Legion's ground troops and scattering the surviving fliers before them.

It was a brutal, hand-to-hand midair melee, with the agents of both organizations in small VTOL craft, jet packs and powered armor. It had infuriated Gemini to leave his more powerful weapons out of the fight – given his choice, he would simply have carpet-bombed the entire area as soon as Tiamat's army appeared – but any attack that Tiamat could see coming (such as aircraft that required actual runways and take-off times and approaches) was suicide, and there was no guarantee that a fighter plane's missiles had greater range than Tiamat's blasts.

Instead, the agents of Global Justice and the Worldwide Evil Empire had hidden in the streets, parks, and rooftops of Middleton, waiting for the signal from Wade.

It was working like a dream – a bloody, violent dream that most of the people involved wanted to wake up from – but the leaders of the charge were unsatisfied with its success.

For his part, Will Du was simply annoyed that, once again, it was The Civilian's plan and leadership that was being followed – and, more annoying yet, once again that was proving to be justified.

Gemini's complaint was a bit more…elemental.

"Where are you Hego?" He called, firing his missiles indiscriminately into Legion. "You killed my sister, and now I have come for you! Come out and face me!"

Then, when this carefully-prepared oration failed to get a reaction, he lost his temper.

"Come out, you fucking coward!" He screamed, ignoring the Legion fliers to pummel the ground with his personal artillery. "Come out or I'll keep killing these cheap copies until I find your real brothers! I swear I will!"

Still no answer. Though no one could see it, his single eye had gone wild and mad.

"Come out, damn you!" He shrieked, blowing away square yards of field and Legion at a time. "Come out and fight!"

----

On the ground, everyone at the barricade with an opposable thumb poured fire into the advancing Legion. To the surprise of some (_"Guns? But, dude! You're, like…ninjas!" "Ninjas who fly airplanes instead of ride horses, Brick-san. As a warrior, I am little use in this day and age if I have no idea how to use a gun." "(Chatter of agreement from Chippy)"_),this included the students of Yamanouchi and the Monkey Ninjas.

It wasn't enough.

Even with the occasional strafing run from their air support, trying to stop the advance of Legion was like trying to stop the tide: it advanced slowly, almost inch by inch, but it kept coming in wave after inexorable wave, falling back and then surging forward, each time a little bit further, a little bit closer. Duff Killigan had been forced to put away his driver, and was now hitting chip shots.

And then the situation got worse.

----

"Blast!" Kim repeated, vaporizing a half-dozen Legion creatures. They were immediately replaced by ten more, and all she could do was look worriedly at her BFBF, where he stood beside her, firing from behind the Lotus Blade, which was currently in the shape of a shield.

Ron returned the look, and allowed the Lotus Blade to resume its normal form. "Time for the pointless hand-to-hand combat portion of the morning?" He asked.

"Yes," Kim said, pausing to ignite her killing blades. "But don't let anybody hear you say that."

He opened his mouth – perhaps to apologize – when a sudden blaze of light from the direction of the Legion horde ended the conversation as they whipped around to see what was happening.

Out of the midst of Legion there arose a column of purple light much like the red blast that had accompanied Legion's population explosion. Like Legion's light, this light was accompanied by a voice – though just a single voice, this time. It started out as a liquid, bubbling ooze of a sound, but it quickly gained shape.

"Bbbbbbbbbbiiiii"

Grinning through fangs and mandibles and bizarre lamprey suckers, Legion stepped aside to allow a clear view.

"iiiiiiiiiiiii"

At the base of the column was a greasy smear on the ground, one of the casualties of Kim's initial blast. Now something was flowing up from that smear, something oozing and trickling, like a candle melting in reverse, something black and purple like rot and fungus

"iiiiiii"

Now it was _pouring_ up, rushing and fountaining, splitting and shaping, writhing and bulging.

"iiiiii"

And then it finally coalesced into a figure, but one that didn't stop bulging and shifting. Or growing.

Twenty feet tall and still growing.

"iiiitch! Bitch! That fucking hurt!"

Behemoth.

Now thirty feet tall and still growing, eyes and veins throbbing with a diseased purple radiance, Tiamat's shapeless warrior started forward.

"…_shot _me, you little _puta_! I'm gonna wipe all your little friends off my boots like _dogshit_ – "

Forty feet.

"But you don't get off that easy. I'm gonna split you right in fuckin' half, only I've got a better way to do it than Abaddon - "

"I don't think so, mister!"

Startled by this interruption of his dire threats, Behemoth snapped his head toward the source of the voice. But when all he saw was James Possible standing there, holding what looked like some sort of remote control over his head, he just grinned.

"Don't worry, Daddykins," he sneered. "You'll get your turn."

"I don't think so," Dr. Possible repeated as he pressed a button on the remote. The air was suddenly filled with the sound of metal grating on metal. "Do you really think we're impressed by how big you are, Mikey?" He taunted, pointing toward the space center with his free hand. "We can do big, too."

Behemoth – and most of the Irregulars – turned their attention to where he was pointing.

A few hundred yards away, half-obscured by the black smoke billowing out of the gaping hole in the Space Center's primary building, a hangar door was screeching open.

That door was designed to have a booster rocket pass through it standing upright, so the figure that strode through it didn't come near to filling it. It was only at a second glance that you realized that the deceptively small-looking figure in the doorway was fifty feet tall.

A fifty-foot tall, cybertronic

Naked mole rat.

----

_Last night:_

_Kim and Ron looked upon what Justine, Wade, and Kim's menfolk had wrought, and tried to think of something to say. _

"_It's…" Kim began._

"_It's certainly…" She tried again._

"_It's so _cool_!" Ron finished for her. "You built Rufus a _mecha_!"_

"_Is that what they're calling them these days?" Mr. Dr. P asked._

"_Yes it is," Kim said, calculating now that her initial amazement was past. "And I know just what I want to do with it…"_

----

Rufus's mecha held out its paw and flipped its claws at Behemoth in a "come here" gesture. "Bring it," he chittered through the mecha's speakers.

With a growl, Behemoth turned toward this impudent new challenger.

…which was when Rufus fired the rockets mounted on his back, launching himself across the field and catching the giant Gomez brother with the grandmother of all flying tackles.

"That one's for Pinky Joe Curly Tail!" Mr. Dr. P shouted.

For the briefest of moments, the rest of the Middleton Irregulars and their allies wanted to join him in his triumph, to cheer.

Then they saw that they had nothing to cheer about.

It had been less than two minutes since the column of purple light had first appeared, but Legion had used that time and their enemies' distraction to increase their numbers beyond all reason. Was it even something they did consciously anymore, or did they just keep replicating on and on endlessly like a macro-scale virus?

It hardly mattered. All that mattered was that they were now a crimson-lit storm, a scarlet sea, filling the earth and the sky, and as they rose up in a blood-red wave, Kim Possible only had enough time to raise her blades and scream a battle-cry before the wave broke over Middleton's defenders and swept them away.

----

Broken moments. Amber-frozen eyeblink glimpses of horror.

----

James Possible dropped the remote control and began to fire at random into the advancing Legion horde.

It didn't work. For every Legion creature that went down, a dozen took its place. In another second, he would be swarmed under, and –

And then his brother and his niece appeared, riding their iron horses through the press, steel hooves churning up caustic blood.

They rode by on either side of him and leaned down, catching him under the arms without daring to slow down.

James cried out in pain as his arms were nearly dislocated – as did Joss. She was a strong girl and her uncle Jimmy was not a particularly big man…but she wasn't particularly big either, and when her legs – strengthened by a lifetime of riding – didn't give, something else almost had to.

But all three of them kept their hold, and they were almost to safety (as much as there was such a thing anymore) when a quill fired by a porcupine-barbed Legion creature caught Joss high up in the left leg.

She cried out again, and if she hadn't been setting her Uncle Jim down already, she'd have dropped him.

"Jossie?" Her father asked, his concern breaking through his usual stoicism and into his voice. "You alright there girl?"

"Ah think so, Daddy," She answered, rubbing at her leg while trying to avoid the quill. "Ah think ah might be –"

And then she fell off her horse and into her uncle's arms, which he barely brought up in time.

" – goin' a bit numb," a voice that sounded remarkably like hers said from a very long way away, finishing her thought as the world went warm and gray and soft.

----

Bonnie landed on her back hard, blasting the breath from her lungs and sending her gun spinning from her hand. She heard shouting – Brick, Josh, Tara – but the Legion creature's leap had carried her too far away from them. They weren't going to arrive in time.

Which sucked with a true ferocity, because she was pretty sure she was gonna need help with this one.

Why yes, she'd hit her head rather hard, which was why she was responding to the monster squatting over her with such bemusement. Of course, her mind wasn't doing anything as complicated as trying to figure that out just now.

The monster in question was like a man-sized scorpion, with chitinous, humanlike arms instead of claws, and a human head poking out between them. Almost human, anyway – its eyes were glowing red, and its grinning mouth was full of saw-edged shark teeth.

Which were currently descending toward her face.

That broke Bonnie out of her daze. With a scream that was halfway between terror and one of Yori's _ki-ai_'s, she slammed the heel of her hand into the creature's chin, driving its teeth together with a painful _clack_. For a moment, the thing actually seemed stunned, and she seized her advantage – such as it was – by wedging her other hand up and under as well, keeping that vicious mouth closed and away from her.

_Kim or that Yori girl or even Kim's grandma would know some way to break this thing's fucking neck,_ she raged in fear and frustration. But the thought only barely flashed across her mind; she didn't allow it to stay longer. She had to concentrate on the matter at hand – and besides, she had noticed something.

The Legion creature was growling and thrashing, trying to twist its head free of her grip. It grabbed her arms and its bone-hard hands bruised her…but they couldn't pull her hands away, much less break her arms like she'd expected. It was _struggling_ with her.

It was no stronger than she was!

_Oh, God, _she thought, her mind wild with hope._ I've actually got a chance! If I can just hold on long enough…_

And then its tail appeared over its shoulder, rearing up to strike, its sting like a railroad spike dripping with poison.

_Or not._

She tried to get out of the way, but if she released the pressure or changed the angle _at all_ those teeth would take her face off.

She wasn't going to get out of this. It had too many angles of attack. She couldn't hold it off for even the few seconds it would take for her friends to reach her.

She was just realizing this when an energy beam sheared off the creature's tail. It screamed in rage and agony, rearing back – which was when another blast took its head off.

As the creature turned to ash above her, a hand appeared in her field of vision. She grabbed hold of it desperately, and let it pull her to her feet like it was pulling her from a river where she was drowning.

"Come on then, Miss Rockwaller," a voice said – familiar, but less familiar than she'd expected. "Up you go."

Once she reached her feet, she took a moment to stare incredulously. Standing in front of her, bald and short and unattractive as ever, stood Superintendent Burlson. There was no doubt that he was her rescuer; glowing smoke was still rising from the barrel of one of Kim's brothers' toys in his off-hand.

"Don't look so surprised, Miss Rockwaller," he said, smiling – _smiling!_ – at her. "I couldn't very well let you die if I wanted to see what you and Miss Possible were going to do with the cheer squad for basketball season, now could I?"

She managed a weak smile in return.

Which was when his chest exploded.

She could only stand there, his blood on her face, as he clutched at the bone blade sticking out just beneath his sternum and tried to gasp with lungs that didn't work anymore.

She was taller than he was; when she looked, she could see over his shoulder, see the Legion creature standing behind him. This one was humanoid, with bone blades emerging from its arms and a perpetual grin of teeth like ice picks.

It was that grin that did it – filled her with rage instead of fear or shock or horror. She snatched Burlson's weapon out of his hand and fired it over his shoulder, vaporizing the creature where it stood.

Burlson smiled up at her gratefully, blood on his teeth. He might have been trying to mouth "thank you" when he pitched forward into her arms.

Bonnie gently lowered him to the ground. Not that it mattered. She could have thrown him down and kicked him for all he cared now.

It was only then that Brick and her other friends arrived. _Where were you when I needed you?_ She wanted to shout, but she knew that would be unfair. If the entire incident had taken a full minute, she would be surprised.

"Bonnie!" Brick cried. "Are you okay?"

"No, Brick," she said with a soft calm that was more rage-tight than any scream could have been. "I am so very fucking far from okay. Now come on." She stood up, hefting Burlson's weapon. "Let's go kill some of these bastards."

----

"Fore!"

_Whump!_

"Bloody hell. Hooked it. Well, come on, laddie. You next. Let's see if I can yuir noggin to fly any straighter."

----

Rufus struggled grimly with the controls of his mecha.

He was losing.

He shouldn't have been. Behemoth was only as strong as a man his size would be, while the war machine that Rufus rode in was much stronger. What was more, the virtual reality interface that Wade had built for him allowed him to bring all of his martial arts skills to the battle – skills that Miguel Gomez didn't have.

The problem was, quite simply, that Rufus had no effective way to hurt his opponent. Punches and kicks left dents that filled in before he could throw the next. Broken limbs snapped straight almost as quickly. Even burns from the mecha's energy weapons erased themselves in seconds.

Behemoth, on the other hand, _was_ causing damage. Rapid-grown claws tore weapons away. Suddenly-there body spikes found the seam between armor plates. Fists transformed into bone sledgehammers smashed sensor arrays.

Still, Rufus kept pressing his attack. He didn't dare go on the defensive – he had to keep their brawl back among the Legion, so that none of his human friends or allies got trampled. Behemoth, on the other hand, didn't seem to care that several dozen of his brothers' clones were dripping off his boots.

Then, suddenly, Behemoth stopped fighting.

Rufus knew it was a trap instantly, but that wasn't quickly enough to stop his fist from sinking into Behemoth's chest like the storied tar baby. Then, with a horrible slurping sound, Behemoth _flowed_ up the mecha's arm and began to ooze into the joints, the breaches in the armor…anywhere that wasn't watertight anymore.

The war machine froze in place as Rufus began ripping the VR equipment off. He knew what Behemoth was doing, and he needed to…

Then he pulled off the VR helmet and squealed in fright.

Behemoth was in the cockpit with him.

Miguel Gomez's face, dagger-toothed and throbbing with purple-lit veins, hung in front of him. It was no larger than his own for the moment, but it was still growing as flesh kept flowing into it from outside. Soon it would be able to swallow him whole.

Which seemed to be the plan.

"The Drakken said that back home, they used to fry your kind up good," Behemoth sneered. "I hope you don't mind if I try the mole rat sushi instead. Sorry I don't have any wasabi – "

Rufus didn't wait for him to finish his taunt.

Not long ago, Ron Stoppable had told the Monkey Ninjas that he was the world's last Monkey Master. He was wrong.

Rufus couldn't muster the kind of raw power that his human could, but he was much more skilled at using the power he had. In an instant, he had focused his Mystical Monkey Power on the tips of his claws and plunged them into Behemoth's eye.

Behemoth screamed and reared back, tearing himself free of the war machine.

Rufus grabbed his VR helmet and pulled it back on, not wanting to lose track of what was happening even for a second. Behemoth recovered too quickly for that.

The static-lined image flickered and jumped. As Behemoth had pulled free, he had broken and ripped and ruptured everything in his path. But Rufus could see what was happening clearly enough.

The Unshaper's giant servant was stumbling around amongst the Legion, clutching at his face and screaming. After a moment, he was able to catch himself, to calm down just a little. Just enough to take his hand away from his face and look at what it held, perhaps to make a rough estimate of the damage. As he looked, he slowly stiffened, then turned back toward Rufus's mecha.

The right side of his face was a red ruin, with a gaping hole where the eye had been.

_He wasn't healing._

The remnants of Behemoth's face twisted into a rictus of sheer hate as he started forward again. "You filthy little fucking rodent, I'll – "

Rufus wasn't listening. Ignoring his virtual reality gloves, he sunk one of his glowing claws into the padded wall of the cockpit, and wrapped the other around a cable that had been exposed by Behemoth's retreat.

Behemoth was charging, his huge body reshaping itself into an arsenal of natural weapons, but Rufus ignored him. He wouldn't be able to do this twice.

"Grrrrr…"

The gutted mecha shouldn't have been able to move. What Behemoth was attacking _should_ have been a fifty-foot-tall statue with his tiny enemy in a padded cage in its ruptured chest.

"…aaaah!"

So when a gold-glowing steel fist crashed into his jaw, there was no rolling with it, no bracing for it, just devastation. He reeled and staggered and finally fell, crushing dozens of Legion creatures when he hit the ground.

Rufus grinned wearily as he watched the giant fall. "Payback's a bitch," he chittered. Yes. The shock on Behemoth's face just as the mecha's fist connected just about made up for that "tar baby" trick. Yes, it did.

Then he pulled off his helmet. Enough gloating. He had work to do. First, he had to get out of the giant steel statue that had been a war machine just a moment before. Not difficult, considering that Behemoth had left holes in the thing that his human could have walked through standing upright.

Actually, the _first_ thing he had to do was catch his breath…maybe rest a little…what he'd just done had taken a lot out of him…the Mystic Monkey Power came with a price, and the price for animating the crippled warbot and striking down one of the Unshaper's warriors had been fantastically high.

Still. Had to be done. And now, he just needed a moment to rest. Just…a moment…

And that was his last thought as the world faded away.

----

Everyone saw Behemoth fall. How could they not? But none of them bothered to cheer this time. They were a bit too busy. And besides, it was yet to be seen if any kind of victory had been won.

----

_Eyes on the prize,_ Ron repeated to himself as he forced himself to keep fighting. _Eyes on the prize._

He refused to look at the lifeless steel hulk that Rufus had been piloting. If he had some way of finding out if his little buddy was all right – some wizard/familiar…thing…he didn't know how. And that was killing him. But if he thought about it too much, let it distract him, it would _literally_ kill him. And no one – anywhere – would be "all right" if they didn't win this.

Instead, he focused on what he was doing. Which was, as always, covering KP's back.

She'd gone full-out Scarred Warrior on Legion's collective ass, and was now cutting through them like…well, like white-hot energy blades through butter. He was following in her wake, doing what he had come to think of as his "Sauron trick": he'd turned the Lotus Blade into the biggest mace he could manage – which, with his MMP-enhanced strength, was pretty big – and charged it up with magic so that every blow sent a half-dozen or so Legion creatures flying.

It wasn't working. Not even on the level of breaking Legion's charge. They had as many opponents as they could handle, and an endless number beyond that just kept flowing around them, toward the people they were trying to defend.

Then Behemoth went down, and they had a moment – just a moment – when Legion paused, staring in shock at their fallen champion.

They took full advantage of that moment.

"This is accomplishing exactly nothing!" Kim shouted back to him, echoing his own thoughts. "Time to call in the reserves!"

"Oh, yes," Ron agreed grimly. "It's time."

He hadn't realized quite how angry he was. Perhaps he should have – Legion creatures had been flying further with each blow since Rufus's mecha stopped moving – but he'd been a bit too focused on staying alive and helping KP to do the same. Now he opened his mouth to shout the call, and felt the warrior magic of the Mystic Monkey Power welling up into his lungs, into his throat. The plan had been for him to use his Ronnunicator, and have Wade relay his message to another communicator, which had been left with the Reserves.

He didn't need any damn communicator. He bellowed out a series of buzzing and clicking noises that drowned out the sound of the battle, could be heard clearly throughout the tri-city area, and rolled out onto the plains as distant thunder.

The signal given, Roachie and his giant allies came scuttling out of the woods.

----

_It wasn't supposed to be this way,_ Yori thought as she split a Legion creature's wormlike, lamprey-mouthed head with her katana.

It should have been Yamanouchi, the last remaining company in the Army of Heaven, standing with the Laughing Magician and the Scarred Warrior against this army of demons.

Instead…

Yamanouchi was gone, and Heaven's generals led an army of civilians, honorless barbarians, and monsters.

The red-bearded barbarian laughed as he lashed out with his golf clubs, as if this was no more than the game that obsessed him so.

The madwoman wailed her grief as one of her misshapen "children" died: the one that combined the attributes of a rhinoceros and a rabbit had made the mistake of goring a Legion creature with tentacles instead of limbs, which had dissolved into caustic goo upon its death and burned away its slayer's face.

The small man (no smaller than Sensei had been, true, but this man was in the fullness of his growth, not bent with age as Sensei had been) wore a warlord's helmet that he had no right to, and shouted commands in German to his army of plants – who were actually doing surprisingly well, as few of Legion's venoms could affect them.

The Monkey Ninjas, their numbers already cut in half, hamstrung and swarmed one Legion creature after another, obeying their Master's command to prevent particularly dangerous ones from reaching the humans he cared about.

And now, an army of giant…vermin tore into Legion's rear ranks.

Madness.

And in the midst of all this? Yamanouchi was represented by less than a score of students, only one of whom – herself – had reached the most advanced levels of study. All the rest of the students at her level had died with Sensei.

_Enough_.

She completed her slash and drew her blade back to a guard position, moving to the next Legion creature even as the lamprey-headed one fell at her feet.

Now was no time for grief, or for resentment. The fallen of Yamanouchi had died doing their duty, and they would have had it no other way. She could do no less. She would honor them by living in this moment as the lessons of her teachers and the example of her peers had taught her.

The way of _bushido_. To fear death is to be other than a _samurai_. Do each thing you do with total focus – live every moment as if it were your last, because some day, it will be.

----

Felix Renton was thinking about _Matrix Revolutions_.

True, it's strange what thoughts can occur to you at the oddest of moments, but this was actually relevant.

One thing that had always bothered him about that movie was Zion's APU's: who could possibly be stupid enough to build a war machine, then leave the vulnerable human pilot completely unprotected in the middle of it? Such a thing only made sense if the war machine in question had been adapted from something originally designed for a more peaceful use – like the futuristic cargo-loader that Sigourney Weaver had used against the xenomorph queen in _Aliens_, the obvious inspiration for _Matrix_'s APU's.

Or like his wheelchair.

He'd done pretty well at first. Freakish or not, the Legion creatures were flesh and bone. No match for the razored metal of his tentacles, or the heat of his energy weapons. But now one of his tentacles had been reduced to harmless, blunted nubs by the caustic corpses of his victims, while the other was scarred and pitted and brittle to the point of uselessness. His energy weapons still worked, but the Legion creatures had ranged weapons of their own, as the spine in his shoulder – which had numbed his entire left arm and reduced his functional limbs to a grand total of one – proved.

And they just kept coming. They didn't care how many of them died, they just filled the sky like locusts and they just. Kept. Coming.

So. _Matrix Revolutions_.

Yeah. You think of the funniest things in the last second before something that looks like a flying stingray with glowing red eyes and clawed hands crashes into you.

His working hand jerked at his wheelchair controls and he banked hard, turning his body away from the coming impact. Then things started happening too fast to process.

_Thud_ – not a sound but an impact, a vibration shaking his bones.

A feeling like a bucket of hot water splashing all over him.

And then the ground spinning, rising up at him, fast, too fast, no control, can't do anything, no Brick to catch him this time.

And then he's face down in the grass, and everything that he can still feel is hurting.

_Whafuh? Where? How? _

He struggled to raise himself up on his one good arm, but another jolt of horror shot through him when he caught sight of his hand.

He had blood all over him.

He almost started screaming before he remembered the bucket of hot water. Sure, some of this blood was probably his own, but he was also wearing the Legion creature who had caused him to crash.

Fighting down the urge to puke – he didn't want _another _body fluid he'd have to lay in – he raised himself the rest of the way up.

About ten yards to his left, he saw the burning wreck of his wheelchair.

_So how'd I get _here_? Was I thrown free?_

Maybe. But there were other options.

His second question – _why didn't Legion kill me while I was lying here unconscious_ – never got the chance to fully form in his mind. He _knew _why.

His womenfolk wouldn't let them. Monique and his mother were literally standing over him, pouring fire into the advancing tide of Legion.

"Mom?" He asked, still dazed. " 'Nique?"

"He's awake," His mother barked, not turning her attention from the fight.

"Right," Monique nodded.

Without another word, his mother stepped forward and shielded both of them while Monigue leaned down, hauled him up into a sitting position –

"Owwww!"

"Sorry! Sorry, baby! Sorry!"

- and leaned his back against…something. Then she pulled a "Jim & Tim Special" pistol out of a holster at her belt and pressed it into his functional hand.

"Here you go, baby boy," she said. "Now you just sit back – " she gave him a quick peck on the forehead. "And let somebody else cover that cute little ass of yours for once, okay?"

"Monique – "

"Okay," she said decisively, turning and rejoining his mother at their makeshift firing line.

He'd have been hurt if he hadn't known what she was doing – namely, getting back to work before she could let herself be talked out of it.

Just as well. Any arguments he'd have made – and he'd have been honor-bound to make them – would have been 100 percent pure bullshit anyway. Even with this gun stuck in the hand that could still pull the trigger, he needed their protection. Hell, he couldn't even turn enough to look over his shoulder and see what he was leaning against without falling.

For the first time in years, he truly felt crippled.

----

Zita Flores' fingers flew across three different keyboards, too fast for even Wade to follow, as a steady stream of Spanish obscenities poured from her mouth.

"Uh…Zita…I know what those words mean," Wade said after quite some time of this.

"Then you'll agree with them!" She snapped back. "I mean, shit! Look at this! Global Justice has been cut in half and we're losing the whole damned WEE!"

"Of course we are!" Wade retorted. "They're fighting the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse!"

Zita was about to fire off a response of her own when the ground started to shake.

"What _is_ that?" She asked, looking around, the argument forgotten. "What's happening?"

"What _isn't _happening?" Justine said, scanning the reports pouring into her terminal from the few satellites that were still transmitting and the tattered remnants of the world's communications web. "I've got earthquakes, tsunamis…Jesus, the Earth is _breaking_!"

"Maybe," Wade said, staring at his own monitor, his face gone the color of coffee mixed with far too much cream. "But that's not what's happening here."

Zita looked over his shoulder and started swearing again. This time, he joined her.

----

_Beep beep be-deep_

"What _now_?"

_Beep beep be-deep_

"Kinda busy here, Wade," Kim said as the Kimmunicator screen formed on her shoulder. That was no lie. When the ground had started shaking, the creatures that slithered on their bellies or skittered about on eight or ten or a hundred legs had gained yet another advantage. She didn't even dare turn her head to look at the screen.

"Kim! He's not dead! The blast just threw him across town!"

"He? Wade – "

"He's coming for you right now! He's almost – "

"Wade! He _who_?"

Then something massive crashed into the far side of the battle, splattering one of the cockroaches and continuing on without pause, without even noticing. Something that glowed blue.

"Abaddon," Kim whispered and Wade screamed.

The final Gomez brother thundered across the battlefield, plowing through the other combatants like an out-of-control bulldozer. Troops from Global Justice and the Worldwide Evil Empire who'd been forced to land by the battle in the air either disappeared beneath his feet or flew in all directions, broken…along with his brothers' heedlessly-trampled clones.

"Look out!" Kim shouted, knowing even as she did so that it was too late for warnings. "Get out of his way!" Then, much lower: "Ron?"

"I'm with ya, KP. Hamstrings?"

Kim nodded grimly. "Hamstrings."

The path between them and Abaddon didn't clear – it was far too crowded for that – but the crowd thinned. Even Legion creatures, filled with blind, kamikaze hatred as they were, didn't want to die without at least making their enemies hurt a little.

Kim and Ron were the only ones who made no move to get out of the way.

This was _so_ going to be risky. They couldn't meet Abaddon head-on, force to force. They'd tried that already anyway, and all it had done was slow him down a little and piss him off a lot. That mean they had to –

And then their plans went up in a bright flash as something hit Abaddon square in the chest. Something that roared and blazed and shook the ground with its concussion.

As the smoke cleared, they saw Abaddon standing there, stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the scorched, smoking, _cracked_ carapace of his chest. And even over the ringing in their ears, they could hear Duff Killigan's maniacal laughter.

"Hey, there, laddie," he cackled. "How do ye like a taste of me home brew?"

Kim glanced in the direction of Killigan's voice, although she made sure that Abbadon was still at least in her peripheral vision. Actually taking her eyes off him could be suicide.

The Mad Golfer was actually quite close. He'd probably wanted to get a good look at his handiwork as it did its job.

"You did that with a _golf ball_?" She asked, impressed.

"Oh, no, lassie," He said, shaking his head. "I dinna do it a'tall. I just gave _him_ – " He pointed skyward. "The proper materials."

Kim and Ron glanced up. Hanging overhead was Gemini, his bionic hand pointed at the hulking demon-warrior.

"You killed my sister, freak," said in a terribly calm voice. "Time to burn."

With that, his mini-rockets started to come down on Abaddon like hail.

----

At first, it seemed to be working. Gemini – his calm long gone – screamed taunts ("Can you fly, freak? Didn't think so! Doesn't do much good to come up through the floor against someone who's _flying_, does it?") as Abaddon hopelessly shielded his head with his arms against the merciless barrage. The demon's carapace actually chipped and cracked under the assault, and he was actually _pushed back_ a step or two. Which wasn't nearly enough, of course ("Will you at least _bleed_ a little, you supernatural sack of shit?"), but it was more than anyone had expected. It was buying time. It –

But Gemini had forgotten something very important. True, Abaddon couldn't fly.

But he could _jump_.

The one-eyed man had been focusing his fire on a single area, perhaps hoping to bore through Abaddon's hard shell by sheer repetition – or perhaps he was just so intent on making his enemy hurt that he didn't even thing of anything else. Whatever the reason, the effect was the same: he wasn't moving. He wasn't dodging. And Abbadon's sudden flying tackle took him right out of the sky.

Two months before, Elizabeth Director had told Hector Gomez that adamantium did, in fact, exist, although it was far too expensive to use as a building material. This was all true: the alloy in question had been discovered by a metallurgist who read too many comics, and named because it approached the fictional metal in terms of sheer indestructibility. And it was, in fact, far too expensive to use for building walls or doors.

On the other hand, it was ideal for building a single, custom-made suit of power armor.

If Gemini's armor had been made of any other substance on Earth, he would have been crushed instantly. Instead, they crashed back to earth and rolled across the ground. Pure momentum; even with the mechanical strength of the armor, there was no such thing as wrestling with Abaddon.

Then they finished rolling and Abaddon came to his feet, still gripping Gemini in a bear hug.

Sheldon Director was a big man, but Hector Gomez was even bigger, had been even before he'd been transformed. Now, as Abaddon, his hug had the smaller man hanging with his feet dangling more than a foot off the ground.

Which was exactly what Gemini had wanted.

True, the metal of his armor was shrieking as it bent and crushed beneath Abaddon's impossible strength. True, the spines and spikes of Abaddon's carapace had punctured his armor and pierced his flesh. But still, it was all exactly as he wanted it to be.

Because his feet weren't grounded to the Earth, and his bionic hand was free.

He clamped his hand over the bigger man's face and, before it could be bitten off by those huge, tusk-like teeth, activated its electrical charge.

"I told you it was time to burn," he growled as Abaddon screamed and twitched.

But the victory came at a price. Abaddon's arms spasmed and Gemini's trapped arm snapped like a matchstick, and his own scream joined his enemy's. Another spasm and the armor collapsed like tinfoil. Ribs broke, vertebrae started to crack, and at least once carapace-spine hit something that had been vital when it was working.

He wasn't going to win this way. Abaddon might be hurting, but _he_ was dying. He didn't even know if he was causing any real damage.

Only one card left to play. Better play it while the moron was off-balance.

"Launch!" Gemini barked…or tried to. The best he could do – and it was _all_ he could do – was gasp the word out. And even that made his whole chest burn. Still. It was enough.

Abaddon roared in surprise as the rockets in Gemini's boots ignited, launching them both skyward.

Gemini deactivated his bionic hand's internal taser – no point now that neither of them were grounded – and Abaddon promptly, almost by reflex, bit it off. Not that it mattered.

His muscles back under his own control, Abaddon's bear hug tightened. Gemini's ribs were jelly, his trapped arm was held on by strips of metal and skin, and he couldn't feel anything below the small of his back.

And none of it mattered. He was high enough now. Even if his lungs had been whole, there would be nothing here for him to breathe.

That was okay. He had just enough breath left to trigger the voice-activation system on his last surprise, just enough breath to say the words he'd been waiting to say all his life:

"I win, Betty."

----

The sky turned to white fire.

The sound was too loud to hear; a blast of vibration that passed through the bones, not the ears.

A hell-hot vertical hurricane slammed Legion creature and defender alike into the ground, followed a fraction of a second later by something crashing to earth like a comet, hurling them back into the air.

Then they fell back to ground, and the cataclysmic moment was over as suddenly as it had begun.

Kim and Ron were, naturally, the first to pick themselves up. Her armor glowed and sparked with the energy it had absorbed from the shockwave and her falls, while he…well, he had simply been lucky. Of course.

They looked around in silent disbelief. A crater hundreds of feet across had replaced the Space Center's lawns. In the center of that crater was the limp, broken form of Abaddon. Was he dead? Hard to say. A few glowing blue wisps were still rising from his body, if that meant anything.

Still. Impressive. Before last June, either one of them would have said impossible. Whatever Gemini had set off, it was clear that anything else on Earth – perhaps up to and including Mt. Everest – would have been vaporized.

All around the edge of the pit lay the dead and maimed bodies of Legion. Abaddon had crashed down right in the midst of their forces, and almost all of them had been killed.

As had many of the roaches, and no small number of WEE and GJ operatives who had been knocked to the ground in the midst of Legion by the initial shockwave, but neither Kim nor Ron could think about that right now. It was too much. Even for them. All they could think about – all they could _allow _themselves to think about – was that Legion, the swarming, endless, unstoppable, killing tide of the Unshaper's footsoldiers, was –

"KP!"

Kim whipped around, not toward Ron, but toward whoever it was who was approaching on her opposite side, igniting one of her energy blades as she went.

Which was actually rather fortunate for Will Du, who would have been cooked if he'd latched onto her the way he did while her armor was still venting energy instead of channeling it into the blade. He didn't seem to mind that he'd come so close to losing his head that he'd actually had some of the hair singed off his neck by the thing.

His ears were bleeding and his eyes were wild. He was still wearing his jet pack, but it looked like one of the wings was gone – probably the reason he was on the ground when the blast hit.

"…down," He muttered. "They're down, but they're not dead. All of them would have disappeared if the real ones were dead. Which are the real ones? Do you know? Can you tell? We need to find the real ones. It's not over if they're not dead."

Kim looked out over the fallen ranks of Legion, and knew that he was right. No other way this time, right? No other way. Could she do it, though? _Could _she kill them, or point them out for someone else to kill, as they lay there helpless? She didn't dare let them get up and get going again. There was no such thing as a fair fight with Legion. Could she really do it, though? She didn't know…but she would find out. Because she _could_ tell which ones were real. She _did _know:

They were lying side by side on the edge of the pit. And they were the ones who still looked normal.

The ones who still looked like Jesus and Jaime Gomez.

"Dude?" Ron said, his voice strangely weak and breathless. "It's not over."

Kim and Will both looked at him, then at what he was staring at in such wide-eyed horror. Which wasn't the pit, but back in the opposite direction.

Toward the Space Center.

"Oh, God…"

They hadn't defeated the Immediate Threat in time. The Ultimate Threat was upon them.

The windows and doors and the gaping hole in the Space Center were all throbbing with green light. Something was growing inside, growing too big and strong for its fragile shell of concrete and steel, pushing against the walls like a serpent breaking free of its egg; and with each throb, each pulse, the light grew brighter and the sense of power in the air grew heavier, like static electricity as a cyclotron revved up and up and up.

Pulse.

Brighter.

Pulse.

Blazing.

Pulse.

Blinding.

Pulse.

The windows shattered and the doors blew off their hinges as green fire erupted out and then up, swirling together into a pillar of flame as broad as the building had been that roared and spiraled and speared into the sky.

The Space Center didn't burn so much as it simply evaporated, dissolving into the column of fire like ash on the wind.

And at the center of the column, blazing visible as the sun at a desert high noon, shining death on everything beneath it, was Tiamat. The archangel of poisonous radiation once again, clothed and shod and girdled and gloved and crowned only in flame, she roared out words of rolling thunder in a voice so deep that the ground vibrated with them like a bass beat, words that no human tongue could shape and no human throat could survive pronouncing, words that made the earth beneath her feet crack and wail. Her eyes still shone, but now instead of green light, they shone with black-hole darkness, twin beams of pure midnight.

And as she chanted, the fire roared on and on, higher and higher, drilling into the heavens until it pierced the void-black sky itself. And the sky…

The sky…

The sky tore open, bleeding and screaming like a woman dying in childbirth.

And crawling through that wound in the world came the Unshaper, the rough beast arrived at last at Bethlehem to be born.

There were no words to describe it. Words and ideas and concepts are things that humans use to give order to the world, things of Creation, and the Unshaper was a thing absolute negation, pure unCreation.

It couldn't be real. Such a thing simply couldn't exist. The world had never been meant to support it. Reality was too fragile – it crushed and shattered and broke and withered and died at the Unshaper's passing. _That_ was why it had been banished to the Outer Dark: it was a cancer on all existence, a dark, raving, raging cell that would devour and spread until there was no healthy tissue left, just itself.

As the crew of the _Republic_ had screamed in their final moments, the Unshaper shone with deathlights and witchfires. The mind tried to see black, the color of darkness, the absence of light that the human mind faced and coped with for at least half of a lifetime, but the eye couldn't escape the truth: the Unshaper was the color of absolute Nothing, total unlight, shining with anti-colors that destroyed any natural light they touched.

It hurt the eyes to look at it. It hurt the _mind_ to look at it.

Look at it…

"KP?"

Kim tore her eyes away from the horror in the sky. It was surprisingly difficult. She'd been frozen in place by her own terror, like a bird who'd locked eyes with a cobra. Still, she somehow managed to turn her head and look at her mate (_not BFBF not lover _MATE_ this is the end of the world and nothing else matters_), who was standing next to her with a perplexed look on his face. Leave it to Ron to look merely quizzical at the the arrival of doomsday.

"Uh?" It was the best she could manage.

"Everyone else who's ever seen this thing has died or gone crazy. How is it that we're still standing?"

Kim blinked and looked around her. Never mind the end of the world hanging in the sky above her. Let's look around at this latest curiosity that her best friend had discovered, the latest in an endless series of such curiosities since they were both four. The mind did funny things at times like this, and Ron was good at getting it to do them.

He was right: everyone around them was curled up on the ground, gibbering and fetal. Even the animals. The only one they could really understand was Will Du, who was lying at their feet, clutching the grass and whimpering about falling into the sky. Which wasn't completely unfounded – they could feel the Unshaper's gravity pulling on them – but for the moment, the Earth was winning that particular contest.

None of them were looking up. All of them had their eyes shut tight, covered with their hands, turned toward the ground. Somehow, all of them knew that death was the _best_ thing that could happen to them if they looked.

To Kim's surprise, the Unshaper's servants were still down, too. Perhaps it didn't need them anymore.

That brought a momentary flash of anger. The Gomez family hadn't been hurting anybody. In fact, when given superhuman powers, they had tried – in their own semi-competent way – to do some good with them. But the Unshaper had taken them and twisted them and turned them all in to monsters, and now…

Monsters.

Suddenly, she understood. The part of her that was the Scarred Warrior had known all along, but she had needed to remember.

She looked back toward the sky. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed.

The Unshaper was still there. But no matter how impossibly, unimaginably huge it might be, how terrifying, how mind-bendingly _unreal_, it was still, in the end…just another monster.

"Because it's us," she said, her voice strong again. "It's always been us. Everything else has been just the Unshaper trying to get out of it."

Ron actually laughed at that. "Big wuss," he said. "Hey, KP, remember Monkey Fist?"

Kim nodded, turning to face him again, a faint smile on her own lips. She knew exactly what he was talking about. "What would the Monkey King do?" She asked.

He nodded. "Up for some pointless, doomed defiance?"

"Sounds spankin'."

Then both of them turned their attention to the column of fire, where Tiamat still chanted in the center.

"Small problem," Ron commented.

"Between my armor and your magic?" Kim pointed out. "_Very_ small."

"Good point."

The decision made, there was no more time for talk. Kim raised a Shell over both of them and Ron reinforced it with a shield of his own.

Then, hand in hand, they walked into the fire.


	23. Heart of the Storm

The Space Center had been a large building, but crossing the empty space that it had occupied shouldn't have taken more than a few minutes. Instead, it seemed like they'd been walking for hours in a green-lit desert. Maybe they had. They were at the center of the Unshaper's power on Earth; it would almost be more surprising if space and time _weren't_ warped.

_Fleeing from the fairgrounds, Inspector Barkin hot on her trail, John reluctantly following in his wake._

Kim stumbled, but managed to catch herself before Ron needed to.

"You okay, KP?" He asked, still holding an arm out, just in case.

"Yeah," she nodded. "It was just…well, I don't know what it was, but it's gone now."

Any other time, Ron would have asked more questions. But if there was ever a time that was Not The Time…

_The docks receding into the distance as the launch rowed out to the ships, knowing that Pim wouldn't be able to save him this time._

"No!" Ron jolted to a stop and clutched at his head. He almost lost his grip on Kim's hand as he did so, but she kept hers, and so he ended up clutching with one hand.

"Ron? Are you alright?"

"Is that what happened to you?" He demanded.

"I think so," Kim said. "Do you think it might be – "

_Already on fire, reaching out through the broken window for Rin, where she's –_

_Lying on the ground, bleeding out, reaching up for Aaron's hand_

_Can't reach_

_Can't reach_

That one brought them to their knees, but their hands stayed linked.

"An attack?" Kim finished weakly.

"Ahhh," Ron moaned. "Fire flashback." Then he shook his head clear. "I dunno, KP," He said as they climbed back to their feet. "It seems kinda OOC for the giant, world-wrecking monster to attack us with dreams."

Kim nodded dejectedly, but then her eyes went very wide. "Memories," she said.

Ron stared at her in confusion for a moment, then understanding dawned. "Memories," he agreed, nodding. "Just like Sensei said."

It wasn't even worth arguing about whether they could be "remembering" things from past lives, or whether there even were such things. There comes a point where you just deal with the impossible things as they come and worry about fitting your mind around them later.

_Watching Shim run/running into the darkness outside Drakkus Maximus's estate, leaving Ronacus/me behind._

Grimly clutching each other's hand, they stumbled on across the cracked, hard-baked ground of the green-flaming hell that they were trapped in, doing their best to endure the memories as they came and keep going.

_Battling Miss Gogh on the ferris wheel while John stood on the ground below/looking up at Mim, terrified she would fall and break her neck any second._

_Sharing a kiss and dreams of the Ohio Territory._

_Fighting the soldiers as they burst into Aaron's home._

_Ramming a gladius into Drakkus Maximus's chest/Slipping and falling in the goo of slain homunculi_

_Riding one of those new-fangled automobiles through the streets of Middleton. "Not so fast, Mim!"_

_Sneaking into the Hessian camp – "Lon! Stop playing around!"_

_The taste of Aaron's bread and soup, the look of Rin as prettied up as she knows how to be. _

_Fighting the flame-demon concubine, holding off a group of homunculi with random waves of a sword – one of which severs a rope, triggering one of Drakkus Maximus's defensive measures: a blade that slices the sorcerously-animated monsters in two. _

"Something's wrong," Ron said. "They keep trying to go back, but they keep having to start over again. It's like they're stuck."

Kim didn't argue. "Like another Event Horizon," she said. "There's something they're trying to get to, something we need to remember, but we can't – "

"Hello, children."

----

Tiamat appeared out of the flames like a rock promontory emerging from a fogbank. She stood with her eyes closed and her face and arms raised to the sky, like an ordinary person basking in the sun.

Then she dropped her arms to her sides and turned her face to them, opening her eyes and spearing them with their darklight beams.

"Welcome to my home."

Kim and Ron looked at each other, then back at Tiamat. Of all the things they'd been expecting…

"Uh, hi."

"Ron…"

"What? I had to say _something_."

"So:" Tiamat said, crossing her arms and smiling at them in a way that would have been benevolent if it weren't for her dragon teeth. "You're here. Congratulations on your resourcefulness. What are you going to do now?"

Kim and Ron looked at each other again.

"Well, of course, we'll…and, with the…yeah, I've got nothin'."

Tiamat seemed to relax, as if her earlier confident pose had been a bluff – as if she'd been afraid of their answer after all. But now, she had the answer she wanted. "You have no idea, do you? You don't remember!"

_Remember?_

They looked at each other a third time, grimly, and when they turned back it was Kim who spoke: "So we don't remember. We'll improvise. It's always worked on you be- "

Her grin broadening, Tiamat shook her head and wagged a finger at them. "Uh, uh, uh…you've never faced me before. Just The Drakken's lackey." Then her face turned mockingly sorrowful. "The son of chaos and the daughter of order, come into my home with their magic games and scientific toys, thinking they can challenge me." Her grin returned. "Here's the way things are, stupid children: I smother chaos and I shatter order. I eat magic and I shit science." Her grin turned Shego-smug, and she languidly raised a hand.

Reflexively, Kim and Ron dropped into combat-ready crouches, Kim raising her hands and Ron raising the Lotus Blade. Their intertwined shields not only stayed in place despite the fact that they'd released their grip on each others' hands, but actually flared higher. Ron's shields flared because it's the nature of magic to respond to the desire of the magician, and Ron's overwhelming desire at that moment – the focus of his entire consciousness – was protecting Kim. And himself, of course.

It is _not_ the nature of technology respond to the mere desire of its user. But that's what Kim's armor did anyway.

Tiamat just shook her head and _tsk_ed. "Silly children. You really think that I'm still limited to those crude, direct attacks? You're in my place of power, little children, and I am God here." Then she turned her hand palm-upward, and the ground beneath their feet started to tremble.

Realizing their mistake, they reached for each other, but it was too late. The ground between them heaved and split, hurling them in opposite directions.

Both of them knew how to fall, so they tumbled away across the hard-baked ground and came their feet. Or tried to. Their uncombined shields were no match for the firestorm around them, and in less than a second – _much _less than a second – both shields were crushed like eggshells and the flames came pouring in, driving them back to the ground.

They should have been incinerated instantly, but they weren't. The Unshaper's power ate into them like fire or acid or arctic cold, but it didn't consume. Instead it…violated. It seeped into every cell, every pore, poisoning and corrupting – polluting blood, corroding bone, flaring in synapse gaps.

Being who they were, they struggled to stand even then, screaming with the pain and the effort, but –

"Ah, ah, ah…children must learn what happens when they play with toys too advanced for their age."

----

Chaos.

Red flames roared up into the blazing white sky as Ron clung to the Earth and tried not to fall up after him. Across the way, he caught a glimpse of a green-haired KP with lighter green skin and red eyes, dressed in black and yellow armor, screaming through black teeth.

Then he lost sight of her as his own purple screams filled his vision and the taste of the ground he clung to and the smell of the green flames all around him overwhelmed his senses.

And then it got worse.

His bones warped and twisted, and his flesh started to ooze and flow, congealing in new configurations and then liquefying again.

It was almost completely painless, but it was horrible anyway. He was losing organization, cohesion, it would only be a few more seconds until he came apart and there was nothing left but screaming atoms for the instants or ages it would take before the Unshaper finally devoured him.

But then

----

Order.

Kim struggled to move, but her armor was no longer the silk-flexible garment it had been a second before. It was freezing in place, hardening into a rigid shell of stronger-than-steel alloys…and it was bonding with her skin.

Even if she hadn't been wearing the armor, her limbs themselves were growing heavy. Rigid. The carbon in her bones and the iron in her blood were reconfiguring themselves, forming new shapes and interlocking.

She was _crystallizing_.

It would only be a few more seconds before she was nothing but a statue, trapped and struggling to scream until the Unshaper finally shattered her.

But then

----

_But then they remembered._

_They remembered a world where the skies were dark with watching eyes and industrial smoke. A world where the only fashion statement was homage to the Supreme One, and the only thing that reached toward the poisoned sky was the Supreme One's tower. A world where both good and evil were enslaved to the Supreme One's will, and those who remembered freedom fought hopelessly from the shadows or fled to the moon, not knowing that there was no escape from the doom waiting for them in the darkness between the stars. _

_A world slowly choking to death on its own slave-collar._

_A world that had never happened._

_Only it had. It _had_ happened…but somehow, it had _UN_-happened. Because of them. _

_Not because of anything they'd done. There'd been other freedom fighters in this neverworld, better armed and better prepared, but still it had come down, as it always did, to them._

_Them._

_Them as _Them_. Them as _We_. That was what it had come down to. Apart, they (_I can't save the world without you)_. Apart, the domain of the Supreme One or the coming of the Unshaper was just too impossibly vast, too juggernaut-unstoppable to challenge. Apart, they were just Kim, just Ron._

_But together, the _They_, the _We_ that they created was greater than the sum of its parts. Together, they had made a world unhappen._

_Together –_

----

They'd made something that had balked the Unshaper.

----

Order.

Kim gathered herself, climbing up from her sprawl into a crouch. Her joints screeched like rusty hinges and the crystals inside her ground together like sand in a car engine, but none of it mattered. Just sensory input, letting her know what the sitch was, no more important than that.

Tiamat laughed as she watched her enemy struggle, but that was downright immaterial. Tiamat must have been almost all Unshaper, with Shego all but gone, because Shego would have known better.

Ron needed her. She needed him. That was all there was to the world right now. That, and the one last trick she had up her sleeve.

Just because her armor was bonding with her did not mean that it was not working.

----

cH_a_**o**_**S**_

M**U**sT _get _

gET

Get TO _kim_

_**KIM**_

kp

.gets world the up-fucked how matter doesn't It

Always KP

kp

SHIMerinpIM_mim_

_**KIM**_

Find I can

Reach

Re

ach

_**REACH!**_

----

Kim's chest did not want to expand. Her lungs had gone brittle and rigid, her muscle fibers had interwoven into Kevlar, and her skin was a metal shell.

But with a will and an effort even greater than the first time she had climbed out of her hospital bed last summer to walk to the bathroom on her shattered-and-remade legs, she took a single shallow breath and then expelled it again:

"Leap."

----

Kim's boots/feet expended every last spark of energy that her armor had absorbed in a single burst, launching her forward like a spear, her hand locked out in the position it would hold forever if

No.

Too far.

Not going to –

----

iS T**h**i_S_

_this_

Arm?

nOSE?

el**kn**_a_?

**It**

matt_er_

DOESN't mattER

Focu**s**

fOcUs

maSte_**r**_

_Monkey_

mASter

_Magician_ laughing

KP

_**Kpmim**__**pim**__erin_shim

wAy

taht

wa**Y**

FOCUs and

And fo**C**us

_**REACH!**_

----

Part of the undifferentiated protoplasmic mass that Ron had become shot out like a frog's tongue and splashed onto the metal spikes Kim's fingers had become.

Tiamat screamed in shock and outrage, but –

----

Order.

cH_a_**o**_**S**_

Creation.

----

_And they_

----

Order giving shape and meaning to chaos.

Ron's hand formed.

----

_And they_

----

Chaos giving life and hope to order.

Kim's hand flexed.

----

_And they _

----

Creation.

Clasp.

----

_And they remembered._

_The final barrier went down, and they remembered._

_They remembered their first life._

_Kim remembered the girl who had lost her mother in the longtooth attack that had left the right side of her face claw-marked. The girl that no man wanted for a mate because she was no good at women's work, the girl that no man would even mate with because she was so ugly and strange. The girl who was allowed to hunt – on her own, of course, never with the men – because she was good at it, yes, but because it didn't matter if she didn't come home. _

_Ron remembered the small, weak boy who had been the butt of the other boys' (in some cases, even the men's) mockery and bullying all his life. The boy who might have been deemed unfit and driven out of the tribe if the Shaman hadn't noticed that he had no less than _two_ totems – Monkey and Rat, totems of cleverness and survival – and taken him on as an apprentice._

_But these two people that no one wanted weren't unhappy, because they had each other. They had since they were little children, when the boy had found the girl sitting off alone, crying for her grief and loneliness at the loss of her mother, and – though she was trying to be brave – for her body's own pain. She'd told him to go away, but he had refused, making jokes and playing tricks on himself until she had finally smiled. It was then that the other boys had come for him, in a bad mood and looking for someone to take it out on, but she had driven them away with rocks, and from that moment the two of them were inseparable. _

_The tribe kept waiting for the two of them to die and relieve everyone's misery, but it never happened. _

_When the men had threatened to drive the boy (now most of the way to manhood himself) out of the tribe after coming home empty-handed from one too many hunts (for even the shaman's apprentice must hunt), the girl spent a moon teaching him her tricks with sling and spear, so on his next hunt he came back with more meat than any of them. When they went out together, they came back with more meat than _all_ of them._

_When the women mocked the girl (now a woman, for her first moon-blood had come, causing her such pain that the boy had needed to find soothing herbs for her), saying that if she mated with her runt, he would have to stay in the cave and care for their doubtlessly unfit children, lest they die at the hands of their useless mother, he had appeared before the tribe the very next day in women's clothes while she dressed as a warrior, daring them to mock a shaman who had chosen to go Contrary._

_And so it had gone, until the day that the old shaman called the tribe together, and told them all of a vision he had seen._

_He told them of a great and terrible god, mightier than any spirit of beast or storm or mountain, who was coming from the sky to eat the world. _

_Even the gods themselves couldn't face this creature, he'd said, because it was mightier than any of them except the Great Mother, and she didn't answer the call of such little, unworthy things as he. _

_But the gods had given him a vision of a ritual. A ritual that would give those who performed it the power of all the gods at once, even the Great Mother herself, and the god from the sky was not mightier than that. _

_But, the shaman went on even as the proudest warriors stepped forward, he could not perform the ritual himself. It needed two people who were opposites, but who, in their opposition, made all that was between them. What was more, those two people would be bound together forever, in the Land of Plenty or whatever other lives there were to come. And for the ritual to work, that binding had to be a blessing, not a curse. _

----

Tiamat completed her shriek.

Brown eyes met green. They were back. They were themselves again. They had remembered a lifetime in a fraction of a second.

Tiamat raised her hand, but it was already too late.

----

_They remembered the evil god filling the sky, and everything around for more than a day's walk dying – birds, beasts, plants, the Earth itself._

_They remembered the ritual, and the pain it caused the evil god, the screaming that they heard in their ears and their bones and their spirits. _

_And then they remembered – _

----

Tiamat roared out a cone of green fire – her usual kind this time, the kind that leveled landscape features and killed people – but it just washed over them like a soft summer rain.

----

_They remembered the evil god's counterattack, come crashing down from the sky like an avalanche in the moment before the ritual was completed. They were killed, of course, and their land was flattened and forever laid to waste. In ages to come, it would be known as the Sahara desert. The mystic backlash of the ritual, broken just as the power of all the gods had come to focus on it, hurled the Unshaper into the Outside, there to spend those ages waiting, battering at the walls of the world that it hated so much and wished to murder so badly until the day came when the unhappening of a world damaged those walls enough for it to break them down._

_So the battle was finished, but not truly decided._

_But there was more. _

_The Scarred Hunter and the Laughing Shaman (so named by their tribe, names of honor bestowed to recognize their courage and sacrifice in facing the evil god) had hurt it. Impossible, but it had happened. Like an egg and a sperm cell, these tiny things had joined together to create something infinitely larger than themselves. _

_Killing them wasn't enough. Killing them would not eliminate the threat they posed when it returned – and it would return, as they would. _

_Besides. They had hurt it. They would suffer for that._

_They could not be allowed to come together again. _

_And so it had laid its power upon them, in the instant before it was banished to the Outer Dark. Power to warp and shift reality itself._

_Down all the ages, they would come back again and again. And they would meet, and they would love, as the blessed binding that had been both freely chosen and placed by the gods ensured they would. _

_But the ritual had been incomplete, and that incompleteness left it vulnerable. So whenever they would meet, and whenever they would love, fate would tear them apart again._

_Fate, and the Unshaper's curse._

----

Two heads snapped toward Tiamat in perfect unison, one pair of eyes blazing green, the other gold, and there was something in those eyes so fierce, so terrible that the avatar of the Unshaper actually took a step back.

Then she seemed to remember who she was and where she was, and she stepped forward again, her flaming claws coming up.

Neither teenager so much as blinked.

Instead, Kim reached out and pulled Ron to her, wrapping her arm around his waist. He returned the gesture with one arm as he raised the other, leveling the Lotus Blade at their approaching foe. The creature that had once been Sheila Gomez came to an abrupt halt, her face once more uncertain.

The uncertainty turned to fear as Kim raised her free hand and wrapped it around Ron's, threading her fingers through his so they were gripping the hilt of the Lotus Blade together.

The fear became terror as the Blade burst into white fire like a bar of magnesium.

And then there was no more confusion or fear as the Warrior and the Magician said the word "Burn" in perfect unison and blasted her with the Hiroshima force of a thousand lifetimes of pain.

----

Outside the column of fire, the Unshaper's other slaves started to writhe in their unconsciousness as if they were suffering nightmares.

Then they started to glow.

But this was different from all of the other times in their lives that they had used the Go Team Glow. Instead of simply radiating from them, it was rising off them like steam, boiling and streaming up into the sky.

One of the Legion clones, on the very edge of Abaddon's pit, crumbled to ash. Then another. And another.

In the pit itself, one of Abaddon's spikes rocked in its socket like a loose tooth, then fell to the ground.

Some distance away, Behemoth started to shrink, his protean form solidifying. Forty-nine feet. Forty-eight. Forty-five. Forty.

The power had never been theirs. And now the Unshaper was taking it back.

One by one, then faster and faster the Legion clones crumbled to ash, until it looked like a gray wave was washing across their fallen bodies. Then the gray wave crested, washed over two fallen forms that remained as they were, and continued on, leaving only Jesus and Jaime Gomez in its wake.

Cracks spread across Abaddon's chitinous armor, intersecting and running past each other, pieces breaking off and falling out and falling in until there was nothing left at the bottom of the pit except Hector Gomez lying in a drift of organic dust.

Thirty. Fifteen. Eight. Six. Five-foot-ten. And all that was left lying on the ground was Miguel Gomez.

And the last of their power flowed up into the sky, to rejoin the source.

----

Inside the fire, the Scarred Warrior and the Laughing Magician watched coldly as blast after blast smashed into the Unshaper's avatar.

At first, she'd tried to counterattack, to break them down again, but each attack had been casually brushed aside and answered with another piledriver blow.

Now she made no effort to defend herself, just bent and twisted and flapped with each blast like a scarecrow in a high wind.

_Something's wrong._

Kim didn't know where the thought came from. She certainly couldn't put her finger on just what it was that might _be_ wrong. Still, she didn't doubt it. Something was…

Oh, God.

"Ron," she said, squeezing his hand.

He blinked and looked at her, his focus broken. "What – "

Then his head snapped back toward Tiamat. He didn't need her to tell him what was wrong anymore.

The blasts had stopped coming when they'd stepped down from the Scarred Warrior and the Laughing Magician back to Kim and Ron again. The constant explosions had been covering up a sound that Tiamat had been making, but now they could hear it clearly.

For a moment, it sounded like she was screaming. But just for a moment.

She was laughing.

The final blast had turned her away from them, but now she turned back, pivoting on one foot. Her hair had returned to normal, and her eyes now glowed neither green nor black: they were red, but that had nothing to do with any sort of demonic manifestation. They were simply full of blood. The archangel of poisonous radiation was gone, and something that looked very much like Shego was in its place.

At first, they thought her head was simply cocked, but then they saw that it was actually lolling against her shoulder at an impossible angle.

No matter, apparently. Easily corrected: still grinning, she reached up and straightened her head on her shoulders with a sickening crack.

"Why did you stop, children?" She asked. "Go on, finish venting if it'll make you feel better."

She gave one arm a tug, popping her shoulder back into place, then set the other wrist with another crack of bone.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she continued. "Did you really think that your little temper tantrum was accomplishing something?" She laughed again. "Were you really stupid enough to think that hurting this little puppet would actually hurt _me_?" She held up a hand and waved it in invitation. "Look around you!"

They did, but they didn't need to. Now that they weren't monomaniacally focused on destroying the nearest token of the being that had caused them so much suffering for so long, they could _feel_ it. The column of green fire all around them was slowly constricting. The Unshaper was withdrawing its power from Earth. Tiamat – the _real_ Tiamat, the Tiamat filling the sky above them – was closing her mouth. Ouranos was withdrawing from Gaea.

"Do you see it?" The puppet-Tiamat taunted, still grinning. "Do you understand now?"

They did. They finally did. This was not a victory. This was final defeat. By withdrawing its power, breaking its connection to the Earth, the Unshaper made itself invulnerable. Perhaps it couldn't twist and mutilate and reshape the Earth as it otherwise would have, but no matter. What it couldn't rape, it could still murder. All it had to do was solidify, and it would hit the Earth like a sledgehammer hitting a watermelon.

But how could they stop it?

They turned back to puppet-Tiamat, and in her grin they read the simple, obvious answer:

They couldn't.

"So go ahead and break this toy if you want to, children." She said, still grinning. "I still win."

"No."

All three of them whipped around to see who had spoken – who, other than the three of them, could possibly survive in here? – and all three of them cried out in near-perfect unison.

"Drakken!" Two of the voices shouted.

The third voice cried "Drew!"

And it was.

----

Neither member of Team Possible could stop themselves from gasping in shock and pity. Drew Lipsky had survived his fall from the Hover-saucer, it seemed, but only barely. He crawled toward them now, the lower half of his body dragging uselessly behind him.

Out of purest compassion, they both sincerely hoped that his spine was broken. That way, he couldn't feel the ruined limbs that were trailing behind him. Not that he wasn't in plenty of pain anyway; his face was half-covered with blood from a scalp wound, and his lab coat – and the skin beneath it – was torn in a dozen places. The question of internal injuries didn't bear thinking about.

But still he came on. The grim, agonized determination in his face was like nothing they had ever seen before the previous June…and had seen too damn often since.

As he crawled toward them, his skin started to take on a faint bluish tinge. Perhaps that was how he survived crawling straight into Tiamat's fire: years as the Unshaper's vessel allowed him to feed on its power, rather than being consumed by it.

For a minute or two. He was already beginning to smolder.

And still he came on.

Stunned, Kim and Ron stepped out of his way as he continued crawling toward puppet-Tiamat's feet.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" She blustered as he came on, apparently trying to regain her composure. It was strange to see a creature of such power so shaken. "Are you that much of a toddler, Drew? Do you really think that if you just say 'no' enough times, it won't happen? Sorry to let you in on the secret, Drew, but that doesn't even work for toddlers, and your world _is_ going to b – "

"No," Drew Lipsky wheezed, aspirating a faint red mist. Punctured lung? Seemed likely. "That's not what's going to happen."

"And why not?" Puppet-Tiamat demanded, seeming more rattled than ever.

"Because if it does, then you're nothing but a used condom," Drew sneered, the effect somewhat ruined when he had to gasp for air. "Something that the _hhhhh_ Unshaper used to protect itself _huh huh_ and is just going to _ehhh-huh ehhh-huh_ throw away now that it's _ehhhh_ done. Something that _hehhhh_ could've mattered, but _uhhhhh_ doesn't now. Oh, well."

The firewall swept past Kim and Ron, and they suddenly found themselves standing outside. Amazing – they hadn't known how bad they really felt until it was gone. It was like a nasty case of the flu, with its attendant fatigue and body aches, had suddenly left them.

Not that they took the time to marvel over that. It was what was happening _inside _the fire that was really important. Drakken – Drew – had reached puppet-Tiamat's feet.

"If you let this _huh-huh_-happen," he said, "Then you were _ehhhh _never anything but the _hahhhh _Unshaper's bitch." The circle of fire continued to tighten as he paused, exposing his feet and creeping up his shattered legs. When he continued, it was much more softly: "And the Shego…_hhhhh_ the _Sheila_…I _hhhgghhh _knew was no one's _uhh _bitch."

"See, that's the problem, Drew," puppet-Tiamat smirked as the fire-circle crept past his waist and up his back. "The Shego and Sheila you knew are dead. There's only me now."

"Wrong."

"What did you say to me?"

"I said _hhhhh_ wrong. They're still _ehhh_ alive. Still in there. _Uhhhhh_. Still _huh_ calling me _heh_ Drew."

Puppet-Tiamat's eyes went very wide…and then they turned brown.

"No…"

"Yes. I know you're _huh huh_ in there, Sheila…e_hhhhhh_…"

Puppet-Tiamat clapped her hands to her ears. "No! She's dead, she's gone – "

Drew emerged completely from the fire and it started to flow up puppet-Tiamat's legs, leaving brown skin behind it. He ignored both that and her words.

"…and you're still _uhhhh_ a hero."

"Shut up shut up shut up! I'm the master here!" She wasn't talking to Drew anymore.

The fire had reached her waist and was still oozing up her torso.

"_My – heh_ – hero."

Chest.

"No! I made you! You can't have you back!"

"And my hero – _ehhhhh hhhuhhh_ – will not let this happen."

Shoulders.

"Now fight!"

"_NO_!"

With that single screamed word, Sheila Gomez's hand shot into the air and snapped closed.

And time froze.

A cable of green fire as thick as Sheila's wrist connected Earth and sky, and for a moment, that single thread of green was the axis of the world. And standing at the base of that axis, the foundation of the pillar, was Sheila Gomez.

Then the cable began to twist and thrash like an angry snake as the Unshaper strove desperately to break the connection and reclaim its invincibility, but she would not let go. She had Tiamat by the tongue, and she would not let go. After years of rape, she had Ouranos by the balls. And she would. Not. Let. Go.

Instead she clenched her fist so hard that her nails drew blood, gripping the burning end of the connection that the monster in the sky had driven into her so long ago, and she screamed:

"OhGodohGodDrewithurtshelpmeDrewithurtsithurtsithurts!"

Doing the best he could, Drew pulled his broken body a little further forward and hugged one of her legs. "I'm here, Sheila. I'm here."

"It's tearing me apart!"

"I know. I'm here."

"So am I." The voice was calm and quiet, even though it was tight with pain. It was also very, very familiar, even though they hadn't heard it in months. The sound of it broke Kim and Ron out of the paralysis that had held them for what had seemed like ages but had surely been no more than a minute or two.

"Shego?"

----

The woman at the base of the axis of fire had been standing with her face raised to the sky and the cords in her neck standing out with the strain. Now she relaxed, lowered her face, and smiled at them. That smile was as tight with pain as her voice, but it was a soft smile. A gentle smile. A Sheila smile.

Except her eyes were green.

Drew looked up at her, eyes and mouth agape with horror, but Shego just laid her free hand on his head like a blessing.

"It's okay, Drew. You rest now."

Drew blinked, then looked up at her in confusion. "Shego?"

"Here, Dr. D."

"Okay, no clue what's happening," Ron said, raising the Lotus Blade. "Explain. Now."

Shego smiled at him again, and this time the smile was sad in addition to all the things it had been before. "Drew and the kid are brave and tough – hell, they're the ones who busted us loose – but they're not monsters. And letting yourself burn just so you can make sure that your enemy dies with you is monster work. Besides…" A faint ghost of her old smirk appeared on her lips. "Fighting that hellbeast up there is what Drew and the kid made us for. But we're doing just about all we can right now, so the rest is up to you." With that, she closed her eyes and let her head roll back, turning her face back to the sky.

"But we don't know – "

"Of course you do, Kimberly," Drakken interrupted. "You remember. Now finish it. We can't hold on forever." Then he tightened his grip on Shego and closed his eyes as well.

----

"Do we?"

"KP?"

Kim turned her gaze from the statue-still forms of the people who'd been their most persistent enemies, and looked at her mate. She looked exhausted, but not quite ready to collapse, like a boxer waiting for the bell to begin the final round. All of their efforts and plans had been in vain and when they'd taken their best shot, it had only made things worse, but now their worst enemies had given them one more chance, and they weren't beaten yet.

"Do we remember?" she asked, and as when she'd asked him if there was another way to defeat Gill, the words were at least as much challenge as question.

Ron started to answer, then stopped as his eyes went wide with awe and he raised his right hand so he could look at the Lotus Blade. "You know what, KP? I think…at least _some_ part of us…_does_."

The Lotus Blade was changing. Not its usual sudden flash from form to form, but a slow morph.

A sword with the name "Pim" etched into it.

"That's…!"

"Yes."

A pike, cheaply and carelessly made, one of dozens that blacksmith had churned out.

Throughout their many lifetimes, the two of them had often been warriors of one kind or another. The Lotus Blade hadn't been there for them when they had been, cloistered as it was at Yamanouchi.

A gladius. Well cared for, but heavily used.

That didn't matter now. It was running back along the track of memory, becoming all the weapons they had defended themselves and others with down through the ages until it reached its oldest and truest form, its _original _form, the form that the fine craftsmanship of the Lotus Blade had masked for so long.

The shaman's flint knife.

"You know what, Ron?" Kim said, "I think you're right."

Only now, it wasn't just a part of them. The Lotus Blade's transformation had been the last tumbler falling into place. They _remembered_ now.

Tens of thousands of years ago, the ritual had been cut short at the very moment of its completion. That potential had been there all this time, moments from being unleashed, like a cave full of explosive gas just waiting for a spark to set it off. And they knew how to make that spark.

"The final joining," Kim said. "Here, let me…" She took the knife from Ron and turned her forearm wrist-upward, the armor peeling back from it. "No time to do this the easy way, so – "

"Kim, what are you – "

Without answering, she took a deep breath and slashed her forearm down its entire length. The blade was sharp as broken glass, and her skin parted easily, revealing the raw meat beneath. The cry of pain and the spurt of blood followed a fraction of a second later when her body finally realized that it had been hurt.

Ron flinched when the blood and the cry came – he hurt when she hurt, that was the way it had always been – but he said nothing. No asking what she'd done, or why, or if there hadn't been some other way to do it. He remembered now, too. The Magician understood perfectly, though it made perfect sense that the Warrior had remembered first. It couldn't be a shallow slice across the ball of the palm, like in the movies. It had to be lifeblood.

Kim handed him the knife and then sank to her knees, squeezing her wounded arm. Before he could think twice about it, Ron followed her lead.

Oh, yeah. It hurt. For a second, nothing…and then it felt like there was a red hot wire buried in his skin. Dropping to his knees at that point wasn't so much a ritual act as a necessity.

Still. Kim had been in worse pain in her time, and he'd been dizzier. They both found the focus to clasp each other's arms and let the blood flow together, their arteries pumping their lives into each other's wounds.

"Now the words," Ron prompted.

"Words?" Kim said. "Had words even been _invented_ the first time we did this?"

Ron grinned at her, a beam of Ronshine in the midst of the blazing anti-light.

"Looks like it's _my_ turn to remember something," he said. "Booyah. But we don't need _their_ words, KP. We have our own that are just as good. I've _always_ known 'em. Heck, I even told you, back in GJ before all of this started."

Her face lit up, echoing his grin. It shouldn't have been so easy to remember what he meant, but what the hell…they were remembering events from their first lifetime. Besides, the words had stuck in her mind for months because they were so perfect. The only words they would ever need.

"My life," she said softly, putting everything he'd ever meant to her in those two words.

"My world," he answered.

And that was enough.

The circle closed between first life and last life, past and present, like one great wheel.

_Mim and John met in their far distant land._

_Lon's ship came in, and Pim ran to meet him at the quay._

_Rin and Aaron finally caught each other's hands._

_Ronacus and Shim ran into each other's arms on the edge of Rome._

_After all the lifetimes of separation and pain, they came together with a cry of joy that echoed in the rafters of time._

The key turned in the ignition. And the wheel began to roll.

----

All across the world, the holy places flared.

It started with the High Holy Sites: Stonehenge, the Western Wall, the Kaaba, Mount Kailash, the Churches of the Nativity and the Holy Sepulchre, the Sri Mahabodhi, Mata Ganga – all blazing with golden light, as if all the gods and higher beings that they represented had descended upon them.

Then it flashed out, a chain reaction of light sweeping across the world, every mosque and church and synagogue and temple and shrine, shining with colors from every part of the spectrum and beyond, piercing the Unshaper's world-smothering shadow. Wherever those lights ignited, the Unshaper's nightmares recoiled and humans stared transfixed – those who were still free because of awe and sudden hope, the Ravers because they were suddenly bereft of their driving will.

Early in their careers as heroes, Kim and Ron had investigated a blackout that had darkened all of Europe, only to find that the demands Señor Senior Junior's "Beach Sized" sunlamp had taxed the power grid beyond its limits. These lights were already brighter than that by far, growing brighter by the second, and it seemed that their power _had_ no limits.

All the dynamos of eternity were cycling up to full.

----

Dying.

They were dying.

This had to be what dying felt like. It wasn't agony, exactly, or ecstasy, exactly, but some distorted mix of the two where it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Their hearts were pumping liquid fire and lightning was racing along their nerves.

It was the power. Neither of them had ever imagined that such power even existed. There was nothing in either science or magic to compare to it. They were overloading, burning out like the circuits in Kim's armor.

They could feel the wind blowing in the trees on the slopes of the Adirondack mountains like a breeze ruffling their hair. The red-iron core turned like an uneasy meal in their stomachs. The tectonic plates shifting at the Unshaper's command ground in their bones.

Then the power surged again, and their senses expanded further.

They were standing in the reactor core of forever. There was no surviving this.

But they could hold on.

They could hold on until the job was done. They'd beaten the Unshaper twice before, once at the beginning and once in the neverworld, but this was the one that really counted. Last time pays for all.

They could hold on because another thing they could feel was everyone they loved, curled up on the ground, underbelly-helpless beneath the the Unshaper's poisonous radiance.

And they could hold on because they were the opposites who made all there was between them. Apart, they were extreme, unbalanced…vulnerable. But no one had ever been as whole as they were together. No one had ever been as perfect. They were Vishnu and Lakshmi, Shiva and Shakti. No, they were Adam and Lilith in the Beginning, Adam and Lilith as they should have been – no simpering, submissive Eve, one step removed from Creation, receiving the Breath of Life secondhand from Adam's side. They were Male and Female, images of God, made of True Earth and the Breath of Life, Namers and Keepers and Protectors of the world.

But they were more than that.

They were the Scarred Hunter and the Laughing Shaman, they were Siobhan and Ronacus, they were Erin and Aaron, they were Pim and Lon, they were Mim and John. A thousand lifetimes torn apart, wounded, pain so deep that it was part of their very souls – those lifetimes were inside them, roaring in rage and joy, standing with them, standing together, each giving of their courage and their strength. They were a vast multitude, an army of thousands.

And finally, finally, oh, finally, after all those lifetimes, they were one.

One.

----

The pain was a monstrous thing. Unimaginable. Bigger than the thing in the sky above; bigger than the world. The power had been part of her for so long…perhaps it might have been painless if she'd just let it go, but now that she was fighting, it felt like her guts were being pulled out with red-hot hooks.

Drew and Dr. D had gone quiet. Maybe they were dead.

_Still with me, kid? It'd suck to have to do this alone._

_I'm here, Shego. _

Then they heard something. A musical note rising above the symphony of destruction all around them.

They opened their eyes (if anyone had been there to see, they would have seen that one was green and one was brown) and saw that the Princess and the Buffoon had been obscured by an orb of light. Not white, but swirling bands and sizzling arcs of rainbow colors. With each new band of color, another note sounded, from the deepest _basso_ an organ could play to the highest piccolo trill.

----

_One One at last they were One and it was time. _

----

The orb dissolved like a soap bubble, and…something…emerged. Something tall and beautiful and too bright to see clearly. Her eyes closed to slits and watering profusely, Shego was only able to catch glimpses: four eyes, two shining green and the other two shining gold. Six panes of multicolored light like stained-glass wings. Lights like stars orbiting its head.

And the Lotus Blade, now a bar of raw magic, in its hand.

The beautiful creature that her enemies had become laid a hand on her head. It was both a blessing and…somehow…a question. Some things about them hadn't changed.

"Do it," she said softly, closing her eyes the rest of the way. "I can't hold on much longer."

Even through her eyelids, she could see the nod…and then it (they) thrust the Blade into her heart.

----

The Sound came first. It came from nowhere and everywhere, and it was impossible to say if the Sound was simply a sound, or if it was a voice (or rather, a Voice, or perhaps even Voices).

No one who was there to hear that Sound would ever quite remember it, which was a blessing. If they had, they would have spent the rest of their lives longing for it. No sound – not the most beautiful music, not the softest peace, not even the voices of their lovers or children – would have brought them joy ever again.

And yet, they would remember that it was strangely familiar, a sound they had heard once before.

The Sound was the _Aum_, it was the _Fiat Lux_, it was the chord of Creation, and when that Sound began to sound, the Unshaper finally realized its danger. It gave up its frantic efforts to break or free the tiny thread of its substance that Shego gripped so tenaciously, and lashed out with a wave of destruction that would have eliminated the threat its enemies posed by smashing the continent they stood on into the planet's mantle, but it was too late. The Sound reached a crescendo, a _fortissimo_ critical mass, and then it erupted.

Light speared into the sky, light that was every color that had ever existed – that ever _could_ exist, that had ever been _imagined_ – light that shattered the destruction wave and shot past the twisting, writhing tongue of green fire and into Tiamat's gaping maw.

----

The Unshaper was old, older than even Ramesh and Chen could have imagined, old beyond the farthest extrapolations of Deep Time. The stars were young in comparison.

It had existed for an untellable time in the darkness and silence of Before. The stillness and cold when time hadn't yet been spun out, and form had not yet been minted.

Then had come the Dawn, the moment when the burning light and the screaming, jangling, discordant Sound had destroyed its peace. From that moment on – the first of _all_ moments – it had known nothing but hate and the desire to snuff out the light and silence the sounds. Its only thought – if its vast, tectonic mind-movements could be described in such human terms as "thoughts" – was to destroy the shining realms, and more than destroy: it would rape and torture and ruin, make them suffer for vandalizing the pure, perfect emptiness of the void.

Since then, it had slaughtered its way across the universe, murdering worlds, whole suns, planning to spend the rest of eternity if need be, smashing it all until there was nothing left, no light, no noise, just the darkness and the silence and the peace again, forever.

But now the light was inside it.

The first time it had come to this little blue world was the first time it had ever encountered resistance; the second new experience in its endless existence. Then, immediately after experiencing resistance, it had experienced a _third_ new thing: pain. The disgusting blobs of protoplasmic slime that inhabited this puny world had actually _hurt _it, actually _balked_ it, cheated it of its satisfaction.

It had come back, its hatred stoked to holocaustic heights that it had never even approached before. This time it was ready, this time it had a plan, this time it would torture and twist and burn and freeze and crush and break and tear and rape and ruin and blast. This little world and its parasites would scream before they died. Because they had caused it pain.

But this one tiny, insignificant, terribly willful little world – in its good, in its evil, with all the force of a love stronger than all the ages – had fought back.

And now the light was inside it.

It writhed and struggled, thrashing shapeless limbs as it tried to break free or tear the horrible pain _out_, but it was impaled on a high spike of pure Creation, and there was no escape. The light spread inexorably, burning away its darkness, purging the universe of the infection of its presence.

The light surged and erupted from its cracking surface in geysers of radiance, and its struggles grew more frantic. It was losing coherence. It was a thing of Negation, of the darkness Before, but now Creation was loose and rampaging inside it:

chaos and order,

(_Waking up to a Ronshine smile and early morning light glowing mellowly in dishevelled red hair_)

joy and suffering,

(_Helping Kim take the first few painful steps out of her hospital bed_)

growth and decay,

(_Pulling Ron away from a beaten Shego. "Now nothing can take me away from you."_)

and above all, the Light and the Sound.

(_My life. My World._)

The end of the world couldn't stand against the beginning of a new one.

When the third surge came, the Unshaper gave a scream that dimmed the stars and exploded.

----

Dawnlight erupted in the skies over Colorado, and swept out and across the world in shining waves. Wherever those waves passed, the Unshaper's power dissolved: tectonic plates settled back into their accustomed beds. Tsunamis collapsed into harmless ripples and megastorms dissipated into wisps of cloud. The Unshaper's nightmares collapsed into ash with screams that were the faintest echoes of their master's, and Ravers blinked and looked around, wondering where they were.

Finally, their power spent, the waves finished their circumnavigation of the globe, washing up gently on the mountain slopes of Colorado and fading away.

And then there was silence, as on the first day of Creation.


	24. After the Storm

Consciousness returned to James Possible slowly, and with a great amount of effort, like climbing to the light out of a deep cave. At least there was no pain. For some reason that he couldn't quite remember, he had expected pain.

"James?"

Someone was shaking him.

"James?"

It had been a long climb, and he was so tired, but someone kept shaking him.

"Mmmjustacouplemoreminutes'mtired," he slurred, but the shaking just became sharper.

"James!"

Startled awake, he shot upright, looking around wildly. "What? What?"

Then his eyes fixed on one of the most beautiful sights in the universe, and he finally came fully awake. In that moment, it all came back to him: what had happened, where he was, and why he had expected pain.

But for that moment, none of it mattered. He just grabbed his wife and they clutched each other tight, making tiny whimpering noises. For that moment, there were no words, no world, just James Possible and Colleen Mackenzie, love of each other's lives, reunited and finally – after far, far too long – finally safe, finally no longer in danger of being torn apart.

----

The moment ended. The world came back. Colleen finally relaxed her hold on her husband and allowed herself to look around again. It wasn't that she hadn't seen plenty as she'd come running across the lawns. It was that she hadn't believed any of it.

"James…" she began, struggling for the words. "What happened here?"

He just sighed, shook his head, and, with her help, started to climb to his feet (once again, pain that he was expecting – in his shoulders – just wasn't there): "Too damn much, honey, too damn – " And then he froze. "Much?"

He saw the things he'd expected to see: people slowly picking themselves up, as he was, and far too many who never would. A huge pit in the midst of the lawns, and another where the Space Center's main building had been. But then he saw…everything else.

It was November, and the lawns had been brittle and frostbitten even before they'd been trampled and burned to bare earth by the battle. Now they were lush and green, with spring flowers blooming all around.

"How…?" Then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter now."

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. "Where's Kimmie?"

"I don't know," He began, but before he could start guessing he spotted a pink streak racing across the grass toward the crater that had once been the main building. "But it looks like there's someone who does! Come on!"

----

Unlike James Possible, Monique Pearman came out of the deep black and into the light suddenly, as if a switch had been thrown in her head.

Instantly alert, she popped up, looking all around sharply. She couldn't have said why.

But after a moment of looking, she _remembered_ why. Why she had woken up braced for danger, why some part of her was surprised to be awake at all. She only had to see the people scattered around her to remember everything. The people…and the bodies.

It was too big. Too horrible. Too wonderful. The world was still here. _She_ was still here. All of these people weren't, though, and she knew she should be feeling shock and horror and grief about that, but she couldn't. All she could feel was a kind of vast relief, the relief that a soldier feels when someone beside him is shot down…and he is not.

Guilt began to creep in on the heels of that relief, but she angrily crushed it back. She wasn't about to go there again, not right now. She'd lived when the _world _was supposed to die. She was allowed to feel good about that for a few damn minutes.

Then she heard a groan behind her, whipped her head around one last time, and she saw something that blew everything else away:

Felix. Sitting up against the piece of barricade that she and his mother had propped him against, rubbing the back of his neck with the arm that had been paralyzed by the Legion-creature's barb.

With a squeal that might have been his name, she launched herself across the ground and caught him up in her arms, clutching him so close that neither of them could breathe, but neither of them cared. He clutched her just as close; there was nothing wrong with his arms, those strong, safe arms.

Then another pair of arms wrapped around them both, and another voice's joyous weeping joined the happy noises they'd been making. Mom was here, their little family was safe, and for a little while, there was nothing else.

----

It wasn't long before the need for oxygen finally won out, and they all relaxed their grips on each other. A little. They laughed and wiped tears off each other's faces and made more happy noises until finally Felix asked the question that brought them back down:

"So who else made it? Do we know?"

Mom shook her head. "No," she answered. "But we'll have to find out later. We need to get you to the hospital."

"Me?" He protested. "But I feel fine!"

"Glad to hear that, baby," Monique said. "But you got a foot-long barbed spike in your shoulder, flew into one of doomsday's paratroopers and crashed your chair. I think you need to at least get looked at."

"But – "

"We'll be right back, honey, okay?" Mom said, starting to rise to her feet. "We'll find you a stretcher or something."

"Right," Monique agreed, starting up after her.

"Wait."

Felix caught each of them by an arm. When they turned back to him, he had an odd look on his face.

"I…"

He released them and rolled over, holding himself up off the ground with his hands.

Mom reached for him. "Felix, what are you – "

And then she froze. They both did, their eyes slowly going very, very wide.

Felix was _drawing his legs up underneath himself_.

"I don't think…"

Slowly, with all the care of someone attempting something that he has only ever watched, Felix rose from the ground, slowly rose to his feet, slowly rose up until he was standing, taller than either of them on his

Straight.

Strong.

Legs.

Monique's mouth hung open. Mom had both hands over hers as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I don't think that'll be necessary."

It was all he could muster to say. But it was enough. Their paralysis broke.

His mother pulled him close, still strong enough to take his breath away, shaking and sobbing with hysterical joy. Monique grabbed him from the opposite direction, bouncing and squealing. Through it all, he just stood there, stunned and disbelieving that he could do even that.

That kind of emotion is exhausting, and it wasn't more than a few minutes before they were all simply standing there, hanging off each other, propping each other up. If they'd been any other group at any other time, they might have sunk to the ground together. But they weren't, and they had no intention of doing anything but stand tall.

Sooner or later, someone has to say something. Even at a moment like that. _Especially _at a moment like that.

And Monique was just the woman to do it.

"I tell you one thing, Sugar," she whispered in her BF's ear. "I am _done_ doing all the work. As soon as we find out for sure that you're okay, you are going to bend me over something."

That brought Felix out of his stupor, but fast. "Monique!"

"Oh, be quiet, boy," his mother said, grinning. "Who do you think you're fooling?"

"But – "

"Do you think I care right now? Hell, I'll pick up the condoms for you on the way home!"

"Mom!"

"Better take the offer, baby," Monique gasped out between gales of laughter. "May be…first time…in…history of the …universe…"

By this point, both women were completely unable to speak, and that was just fine. Laughter through tears is one of the great things that keeps human beings sane in this world, even if the tears are joyous.

For his part, Felix was standing there, caught between the delicious hope that Monique wasn't joking and the terrible fear that his mother wasn't either, all the while wondering why the two dearest women in his life had suddenly decided to turn on him, when he spotted something across the lawn.

"Look!" He shouted, pointing.

They both obeyed instantly, their reflexes honed by weeks of constant danger, but what they saw was no threat.

The Possible family. All of them, minus the tweebs – Kim's parents leading the way, with her uncle and cousin (_Didn't she…? But then, so did I._) close behind, and her grandmother bringing up a _very_ close last – racing across the lawns, toward the crater that had been the Space Center's main building. Other survivors joined the pack as they ran: Bonnie, Brick, Josh, Tara, Yori, others. But they paid no attention, just kept running, running for their goal.

"I think they know something," Felix declared. "Maybe they know if Kim and Ron survived saving our asses."

"Or they know someone who knows," Monique suggested, spotting the pink streak that the Possibles were following across the lawn.

"Either way," Felix said, starting forward. "Come on!" He waved for them to follow, and then…

He ran.

**Sorry for the long wait and the small payoff. A stressful move and a bout of writer's block will do that to you, I'm afraid. Have no fear, though – both are now over, and the final chapter will be up soon. **


	25. Morning Dew

Unlike all of the other awakenings that bright morning, theirs was quiet and peaceful. There was no shouting or weeping or even hugging. They'd known that they would wake up together, and that was all that mattered. The where wasn't important.

Instead, they just smiled softly at each other, green eyes meeting brown, and reached out. Without a word being spoken, they greeted and welcomed, running fingers through hair here, stroking a cheek there.

Spiritual union had been, well, perfect. What other word was there for it? But it was good to have skin and senses again. Good to be alive. They could smell the incongruous perfume of the spring flowers all around them and see the sunlight bringing their colors to glowing life. They could hear voices in the distance, though those voices didn't matter in the here and now.

They could also feel the Sun's warmth and the grass tickling beneath them. Apparently, they were as naked as Adam and Lilith on their first day in the Garden. Not that they cared.

Then the voices crested the lip of the crater, and the outside world intruded on Eden. But this time, it was welcome.

"Kimmie!"

"Ronald!"

----

When Colleen Possible had first reached the top of the hill and spotted the two bodies lying still at the center of the crater, white skin stark against the green grass, her heart had dropped into her stomach. She froze, not daring to move or breathe, irrationally convinced that if she didn't move, neither would the rest of the world, and she would never have to descend this hill and see her daughter's dead body. What she'd seen that summer had been bad enough.

Then she noticed something: tiny movements, hard to spot from this far away. The "corpses" were touching each other.

They were alive.

"Kimmie!" She screamed.

One of the figures raised its head, and its face lit up. A face that she would have recognized across much greater distances than that which separated them. Only two other faces in all the world were as important to her, after all.

"Kimmie!" She screamed again, and it was. Her daughter was alive. Still shouting Kimmie's name, she launched herself down the crater's slope, her husband hot on her heels.

"Mom! Daddy!" Kim shouted, scrambling to her feet and running to meet them.

The three of them came together, and for the second time in ten minutes, the world went away. The only thing Colleen was even remotely aware of – beyond the solidity of her daughter, squeezed almost breathless between herself and James, the certainty of her presence, her survival, her _safety_ that was consuming everything else – was a brief and passing awareness that Ron's parents had somehow appeared beside them and were greeting him in the same way that they themselves were greeting Kimmie while Rufus chittered happily somewhere in the mix.

Ron was okay, too. That was good. Back to that later.

She had no idea how long that moment lasted, but it was finally broken by gasps of shock all around her.

Anger flared. So Kimmie was naked. Didn't they have anything more important to worry about? Or at least the decency to look away?

She relaxed her grip so she could turn around (in place, so she could act like a human changing screen because they all had less maturity than the seventeen-year-old boy standing beside her) and tell them so, but doing so allowed her to get the kind of good look at Kimmie that she hadn't been able to get while running at her full-tilt, half-blinded by tears.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide, and the tears pouring from them doubled, then trebled.

Kimmie just grinned at her, not the slightest bit embarrassed.

"What do you think, Mom?" She asked. "Like the changes?"

----

Kim's scars were gone.

Well, almost. There were four parallel lines across her right eye, which was strange because they hadn't been there before. There had been one terrifying glasscut scar, but that was all, Colleen was sure of it. She'd _memorized _those scars.

And now they were gone. Kim's skin was smooth and even. Even the four new marks across her eye were so regular that they almost looked like tattoos.

Colleen Possible was a doctor, but she had never been _Kimmie's_ doctor, and as a mother, she had always respected her daughter's privacy. And James was, to be honest, ever so slightly uncomfortable with Kim's body. But at that moment, neither of them could stop themselves from stepping back and staring.

It was impossible. They were _all_ gone. All evidence of the catastrophic wounds she'd suffered less than six months before had been simply…erased.

"So?" Kim prompted, still grinning, not the slightest sign of embarrassment showing on her unmarked face. "You like?"

"What?" Colleen said, jolted out of her shock by the question. "Of _course_ we do! Don't you? I…I mean," she stumbled, realizing how stupid the question sounded, then finally gave up: "Why aren't _you_ more excited by this?"

Kim just shrugged. "Because it's no big."

"No big?"

"It would've been once," Kim admitted. "Once, it would have been everything. But now…" She shrugged again. "It happened just when it was really starting to not matter. Go fig."

"Not matter…" James Possible goggled. Then he shook his head. "Never mind that. Kimmiecub, how did this happen?"

"I don't know," Kim said, shrugging a third time. "It must've been when Ron and I were remade after the joining was complete."

James blinked. "And just what does _that_ mean?"

Kim gave him a long look, half trying to decide what to say, half trying to decide if he could understand. "It's a long story," she said at last. "And I'm not sure there are words for it in English."

"Nope," Ron said, joining them, no less naked and no more ashamed than Kim. Rufus was perched contentedly on his shoulder and his parents were trailing helplessly behind him, looking just as confused as the elder Possibles. "Not in Spanish, Japanese, Hebrew, Swahili, or Apache, either. There's a couple words in Sanskrit that come close, but not really. The only language that _really_ has words for it, we can't pronounce."

The words were perfectly audible and clear, but James and Colleen Possible didn't really hear them as anything but strings of sounds, information being recorded by their ears. They were too busy looking back and forth between Ron and Kim, their eyes growing ever wider.

The changes, as Kim had called them, were a lot more extensive than they'd first thought. It was just that, in comparison to her healing, Kim's other changes were fairly subtle. Ron, as always, was blatant.

One of his eyes was now green, for one thing, and his hair had gone strawberry blond. In contrast, Kim's eyes now had brown flecks where they had once been flawless emeralds, and her hair had tawny blond streaks amidst the red. And while it would be impossible to tell without counting, it certainly _looked_ like Ron had a few less freckles than before, and Kim had a few more.

Both sets of parents were still trying to think of something to say when Kim changed the subject for them.

"Felix!" She cried, pushing past them and rushing over to where he was standing (_standing!_) with his mother and Monique. Once there, she caught him up in a bone-crushing hug that he returned after only a moment's hesitation.

"Look at you!" She gushed, taking a step back to do just that.

"Look at _you,_" he countered, doing his best to do so without ogling too much.

"Blown up by a supervillain," she challenged.

He grinned. "Hit by a car," he responded.

"No more massive scarring."

"No more spinal damage."

With a squeal, she hugged him again. "Oh, that so _rocks_!"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, it does."

"Kimmie."

Still beaming, Kim turned to face the owner of the tense-sounding voice. It turned out to be her mother, who was holding out the lab coat she'd been wearing when she'd arrived.

"Could you put this on, please?"

"Oh, right," Kim said, glancing down at her own nakedness as if this was the first time she'd noticed it. "I'll probably be embarrassed about this later," she said as she took the coat and pulled it on. She didn't sound like she believed it.

"Oh, yes. You will be," Bonnie agreed, her voice for once full of mischief instead of malice.

"Just as well, girlfriend" Monique added, stepping up for her own hug. "If you'd spent any more time pressing your boobies up against my BF, we would've had to have some words."

"Oh, please, Monique," Kim scoffed, glancing down again. "Like you have anything to jeal about in the boobies department."

"Uh, excuse me," Felix said, holding up a hand. "I hate to interrupt this…really, _really_ fascinating conversation…"

"Don't worry, dude," Ron said, appearing at Kim's side, wrapped in his father's jacket. "Every guy here hates you for interrupting it, too." Then he paused, and glanced over his shoulder at an eyebrow-raising James Possible. "With maybe a…couple of exceptions," he added nervously.

The eyebrow just went higher.

"Yeah, I can't blame them," Felix admitted, drawing the attention back to himself. "But I have to ask:" He looked back and forth between his two friends, then settled for looking someplace between them. "Did _you_ do this for me?"

Kim and Ron looked at each other, looking unsure for the first time since they'd woken up.

"Kinda?" Kim suggested.

"Maybe?" Ron added.

"Can you elaborate on that?" James Possible asked, slipping back into "MrDrP". What's a scientist without endless curiosity?

"Um…how to explain…uh…help me, Ron?"

"Nothing simpler, KP."

She looked at him quizzically. "Nothing?"

"Sure! It's like this. The Unshaper was, like, made out of pure Nothing. So what do you need when you want to fight Nothing?" He looked at his audience as if expecting an answer. Getting nothing but blank looks, he pushed on. "You need Something! So you take Chaos – " He pointed at himself. "And you get yourself some Order," he pointed at Kim. "You put them together…" he brought his hands together. "And boom!" he pulled his hands apart. "You get Creation, which makes the Something. The Unshaper couldn't survive having all that Something shoved down its Nothing, but even after destroying the Unshaper, there was lots of Creation left over, and I'm betting that all that Creation undid every bit of destruction that ever happened to you. Does that answer your question?"

Nothing but blank stares and blinking.

"Thank you, Ron. Very simple."

"What? _You_ understood it."

"Yes, but I already knew. Look," she turned to Felix. "The short answer is yes and no. You're better because of something we did, but it wasn't something we could control. Everyone in the world who survived is a little bit less hurt than they thought they'd be. Every building still standing is a little less damaged. But _you_ were at Ground Zero. You didn't just get fixed, you got…rebuilt. Restored. Your body is back to factory-new condition, from before the damage was done."

"Then why aren't I…no." He shook his head and waved his own question away. "No, never mind. At least your explanation was in sentences I could follow."

"Now _I _have a question," MrDrP said, stepping forward. "Exactly how did you go about 'putting together' Order and Chaos?"

Kim and Ron looked at each other again. Nervously.

"Um…"

"Hey! Who's that?" A voice called from further up the slope.

All heads turned to see Steve Barkin, who was descending the side of the crater toward them, but looking and pointing out and across.

Following his finger, they saw two more figures lying sprawled in the grass. One of them was pasty white, even paler than Kim, while the other was cinnamon-brown.

"Drew?" MrDrP asked. "Sheila?"

"Mission faces" promptly fell into place as Kim and Ron started to move.

"Wait," James protested, his parental sternness dissolving back into confusion. "You didn't – "

"No, we didn't," Kim said, not pausing. "It's not what you're thinking, but it still won't make you happy, so could we discuss it later? They're _your_ friends."

"Right, right, coming," James Possible said as he hurried after his daughter.

Colleen Possible could only stare in shock and horror as she watched them go.

----

Surprisingly, it was Drew who woke up first. It didn't seem to take much effort for him, either. He just blinked a few times, said something to "mom", and then opened his eyes.

"James?"

"It's me, Drew. Are you okay?"

"I…I think so. Nothing hurts, anyway." He sat up and gave himself a quick once-over. "But I do seem to be naked…"

"We'll deal with that," James said, shrugging out of his jacket. "But Drew…how did you and Sheila get here?"

Drew looked around, perplexed, as he pulled the jacket on. "I have no idea. Where is here?" Then he looked back at his college friend, his confusion only growing. "And who is Sheila?"

Horrified, James Possible just pointed to where Sheila lay, a few feet away in the grass, being tended by Kim and Ron. For some reason, Colleen was just standing back and watching.

Drew looked, frowning at what he saw. "Yes. Yes, I _do_ know her. From _somewhere_. But…where?"

"Oh, no," Kim moaned.

"What is it, Kimberly?" Drew asked suddenly anxious.

"You and Sheila showed up right at the end of the fight," she said. "When it looked like even her brothers were in trouble. You were a big help…"

"But you took a hit," Ron finished. "And it looks like it did bad things to you."

"So it would seem."

Just then, Sheila groaned. Drew hurried to her side, apparently concerned for her whether he remembered her or not.

Sheila groaned again and raised a hand to her head. Apparently, unlike anyone else on the Space Center grounds that morning, her awakening wasn't painless. But it did come, which made her luckier than some. With a final wince and a grunt, she shaded her face with her hand and opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw were two faces leaning over her. One, she recognized immediately.

"Oh, Pumpkin!" She cried softly, raising a hand to brush at Kim's face. "Your face!"

For some reason, Colleen Possible started forward when she said that, but Ron stopped her, whispering something about explaining in a minute. Kim ignored them both.

"It's no big, Sheila. It was much worse before, don't you remember?"

Sheila shook her head. "No…" She winced – the motion of shaking her head had probably hurt it – but when she opened her eyes, they were clearer. "Worse? _Querida_, it looks like you nearly lost your eye!"

"I did," Kim answered simply. "I was ferociously lucky. But that happened a long time ago. Now enough about me." She reached out and pulled Drew into the center of Sheila's field of view. "There's someone more important here."

Drew and Sheila stared at each other. Hard. Each knew that the other was important to them somehow, and they were visibly struggling to remember how. A silent minute passed.

Finally: "Drew?"

"Sheila," Drew answered, and this time with conviction. He pulled her up into a hug, and she clung tight, glad of an anchor – _her_ anchor – even if she couldn't be sure of anything else.

"God, Drew," she whispered. "This is scary. I can't remember anything."

"I know."

"I don't know where we are, or how we got here, or why…"

"I know, Sheila, I know…" He murmured, more gentle and comforting than anyone there had ever heard him.

"And I _sure_ as hell don't know why we're _naked_…"

Drew promptly broke down laughing. He loosened his hold so he could look her in her grinning face and shook his head. "Ah, yes. I remember now," He chuckled. "_That's_ why I love you."

Sheila's grin faded. "Is it?" She asked.

Drew's smile faded as well. With a sigh, he released the hug, helping her to sit up in the grass and then letting her go. "I don't know," He answered, sitting back on his haunches. "It seems right, but…I don't know those things either. Kimberly tells me that we came here to help – "

"And just _what_ is going on here?"

Drew rolled his eyes and groaned. " – your brothers."

Sheila sighed and put a hand over her eyes. "_Ai, conyo._"

----

Hego, his costume torn and scorched, strode through the crowd until he reached the spot where Drew was helping Sheila to her feet. He stopped there and put his fists on his hips, glaring…at which point his brothers rushed right past him and pack-hugged their sister.

"_Mami_!"

"You're okay!"

"Oh, my boys…" Then she gasped. "Oh, no! Miguel, what happened to your eye?"

"My eye?" Mego asked, pawing at the _left_ side of his face. "What about my eye? What's wrong?"

"You don't feel it?"

"Feel _what_?"

Gently, she took hold of his probing hand and guided it to the four hard ridges across his right eye.

"Does that hurt?"

"Does that _matter_?" Mego wailed, scrubbing at his scars. "I'm _deformed_!"

"No, you're not."

"You just have to say that because you're my sister," Mego sobbed, covering the scars with both hands.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he stopped.

Sheila just raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. Right. I forgot. You're _my_ sister."

The Wegos burst out laughing.

"It's really not that bad, _m'ijo_," Sheila said, gently pulling his hands away. "No worse than Kimmie's." She nodded toward the teen hero, who was standing nearby, clutching her boyfriend's hand, looking more concerned than really seemed warranted. "In fact – "

"Well, that's not so bad," he said, paying his attention to where she was nodding instead of what she was saying. "I guess."

Kim grabbed Ron's arm with her free hand. It wasn't quite clear which of them she was restraining.

"You always were a charmer, Miguelito," Sheila said dryly. "Now give me your tunic."

"What?"

"I said give me your tunic. I've got a bad case of naked here, I'm getting cold, and if I take one off Jesus or Jaime, I'm still mooning everbody. Now give."

Grumbling, Mego obeyed.

"All right, that's enough," Hego growled, storming in amongst his family.

"What?" Sheila asked, unperturbed, as she took the garment from her younger brother and pulled it over her head. "You _want_ me to stand around naked?"

"I can't believe your _cojones_," He shouted, ignoring her question. "Asking for _anything_ after all you've done! Have you no shame?"

Kim and Ron tensed up at that, but Sheila didn't have time to do anything but note it and return to the business at hand.

"What've I done, Hector? Come – "

"Will you _stop_ that?" Hego bellowed.

"Stop what?"

"Stop shouting our real names to the whole world!" He shouted, waving at the crowd around them. "Do you hate us that much?"

"Look," Sheila snapped, "For one thing," She held up one finger. "Our enemies could always find us. Remember the viewscreen? For another…" She paused, then lowered her hand, giving him a long, pitying look. "Why don't you take off your gloves and – "

"Don't tell me what to do!" Hego roared. "You walk out on this family, you're gone for _years_, and then you show up at the last possible second and you think you can start giving – "

She didn't wait for him to finish ranting. She just grabbed his hand, pulled off his glove and held it up in front of his face.

"And for another thing, you! Are! Not! Hego! Anymore!" She shouted.

Hego could only stare in blank horror at his hand, finally noticing about himself what his brilliant powers of observation had missed about his brothers:

No more pale skin, no more blue tinge. No more than his brothers were purple or red anymore.

Like them – like their sister – he'd reverted to the color he'd been before the comet had struck. Where she was cinnamon, he was mahogany – the color of a boy who tans easily after he spends endless hours working out in the sun with his father.

"Hadn't you noticed?" Sheila pressed on relentlessly. "Can't you feel it? It's gone."

"What are you talking about?" He demanded, denial and terror at war in his voice.

"The Glow," she answered. "Whatever happened here, whatever we did…it's gone. No more Team Go. Just us. Just _la familia Gomez_."

Hector stared at her for a long moment, perhaps hoping that she'd say "Just kidding!", or that he'd be able to read a lie in her eyes. But her eyes never wavered, and the pitying expression was back. He looked back at his hand and flexed it, clearly trying to summon the blue Glow.

Nothing.

He collapsed to his knees and raised his hands and face to the sky. "NOOOOO!" He wailed.

His siblings and the crowd just stared at him.

"You know," Sheila said, wincing and rubbing one of her ears. "You could actually be _more_ melodramatic if you practiced a little."

"Seriously," Miguel agreed. "And what are _you_ whining about, anyway?" He asked his brother. "I lost my powers _and_ I got my face messed up."

"Yeah, but"

"Your powers"

"Sucked."

"And really,"

"Your face"

"Wasn't that great"

"Either."

"Shut up. I'm in the denial stage right now. When I hit anger, I'm going to kick both of your asses."

"And on that note," Drew said, "Perhaps we should get all of you to a hospital. Whatever deprived you of your powers might have caused further damage."

"Good point," Sheila agreed. "C'mon, Hector," she said, not ungently, reaching down to her crumpled big brother. "Let's go."

Too defeated to argue, he took her hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. Still, he felt the need to raise a token protest before allowing himself to be led away. "And why is _he_ giving orders now?" He demanded.

"Because _he's_ part of _la familia Gomez_ now, too," Sheila answered, iron in her voice.

"I am?" Drew asked, stunned.

"Yes, you are," She replied with the same determination. "Or were you planning on going somewhere?"

He paused, recognizing just what she was saying, and how serious she was. "Never," he said.

"Good. Then that's settled. Come on, Hector." Without another word, she put her arm around her brother's broad shoulders.

For once, Hector knew better than to argue with his little sister. He just laid his massive head on her shoulder and began the trudge toward Middleton hospital.

Before Drew Lipsky started after the young woman who'd just announced their engagement, he paused and turned back to Colleen Possible, who looked absolutely livid for some reason. He hoped it wasn't him that she was angry with.

"Will you be coming, Colleen?" He asked. "The Go Team Glow might have – "

"I'll be along in a moment, Drew," she interrupted, her voice tight. "I just need to get a few things straight first."

Then she turned to Kim and Ron.

----

"All right, I've been quiet long enough," Colleen Possible whisper-snarled to her daughter and the young man that she already thought of as her son-in-law. "Explain. Explain _now_."

"Colleen?" James called. He'd started after the Gomez family – heading to the hospital seemed like a good idea, after all, if for no other reason than that the boys were waiting there – but nobody seemed to be following him.

"Just a second, dear," she called back, showing no sign of the emotion she'd directed at Kim and Ron.

"Okay," he said, turning back to rejoin them.

Before Colleen could protest, Nana intercepted him. "Why don't you just keep going, James?" She said. "You may have forgotten, but you need a bit of a check-up, too. Little Jossie needs one even more."

"Aw, Nana, I'm bigger'n _you_ are!"

"To me, you'll always be eight pounds, six ounces."

"But mother – "

"Let them have whatever moment they need," Nana insisted, herding her descendants along. "They'll catch up."

Silently thanking her mother-in-law, Colleen Possible turned back to her daughter and son-in-law. "Well?" She demanded.

"It's all very simple, MrsDrP," Ron said.

"Is it?"

"Sure it is. We lied."

Colleen Possible's eyes went very wide, and she took a deep breath. She'd been this angry before, more often in the last six months than the whole rest of her life put together, but never with the two people before her now.

"About what?" She asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"We didn't have _much_ control of all that power after we killed the Unshaper," Kim answered. "But we did have a little. Just enough to make _one_ change."

"And you used it to help the people who maimed you and tried to destroy the world?" Colleen asked, dangerously quiet now.

Kim shook her head. "Not that simple, Mom. We couldn't do anything _nearly_ that precise."

"Then what?"

Ron frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe it's better if we showed you," he said at last. "Hey, Bonnie!"

Like many of the people present, Bonnie had turned her attention back to her own group once she'd ascertained that Kim and Ron were still alive, so she was startled by the yell.

"What?" She demanded, turning around.

"My Mom just told me that your sisters are awake," Kim called. "And they're almost as healed as the people who were here. All the damage the lake-things did to them is gone."

Everyone who knew Bonnie's history with her sisters nearly wept when they saw the joy that lit her face at the news. Connie and Lonnie didn't deserve their sister…but they might sooner or later learn to appreciate her…given a few lessons…

"And so was the damage inflicted by being rampaging psycho-zombies," Ron added cheerfully.

Everyone stared at him blankly for a moment, then went on as if they hadn't heard. Bonnie took off in the direction of the hospital at a run with Brick and Bethie (when had she arrived? Colleen vaguely remembered people following her from the hospital…she'd had to tell the boys not to…Bethie must have been one of them) following close on her heels.

"Monique – " Kim said.

"Don't worry, GF," Monique interrupted, grinning. "I'll check in after MB here gets his check-up. If they're mean to her, I'll put 'em back in a coma."

"Thanks, Monique," Kim grinned.

("MB?" Felix's mother asked.

"Miracle Boy," Felix answered. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it.")

Kim and Ron turned back to Kim's mother, who no longer looked angry. Now, she was simply…lost.

"I…I don't understand," she said.

"She doesn't remember," Kim said. "Nobody does. No one, anywhere in the world, remembers that the Unshaper drove people crazy and made them do bad things."

"And they never will," Ron added. "You could tell them what happened, show them pictures or videos – not that there _are_ any anymore – or even forensic evidence, and they'll still never make the connection. It'll all get blamed on the monsters."

"And that goes for everybody from Connie and Lonnie Rockwaller to Team Go," Kim finished.

Colleen Possible stood there for a long moment, visibly struggling with it before she finally managed to speak: "Do I even need to tell you how wrong this is?" she said at last.

Kim sighed. "No, you don't. But it was the best we could do. If we hadn't, the world would have gotten a dessert course of misery with all the riots and lynchings and trials and even in the best possible sitch, families and communities would've been torn apart. Do you think Bonnie and her sisters could face each other? These people are victims, Mom. They don't deserve that."

"What about _their_ victims?" MrsDrP countered. "Don't _they_ deserve justice?"

"They have it," Kim answered. "The Unshaper is dead. _It_ was the murderer. The people were just…weapons."

Colleen pondered that for a while. "And the people who _weren't_ controlled? Who just took advantage of the chaos?"

"Oh, they got nothin'," Ron assured her.

She smiled weakly at that. "I suppose I can live with that."

Pause.

Colleen Possible was no less brilliant than the rest of her family. Between her confusion and the speed at which the answers were coming, she hadn't thought to ask the obvious question, but now that she had a moment to think, she made the connection:

"…but why do I need to?" She asked as it hit her. "Why didn't your…thing…work on me?"

Kim and Ron looked at each other. It was Ron who finally took a deep breath and spoke:

"Funny thing about magic, MrsDrP," he said. "It may be all about chaos, but it still has its own rules. You made a vow, and the magic wouldn't let us make you break it."

"Vow?" Colleen Possible asked, staring at him quizzically. "What 'vow' did I make?"

Ron cleared his throat: "Ahem. Quote: 'I'm sorry, Sheila. I'll forgive you when my daughter isn't scarred anymore.' Unquote."

She stared at them both, her mouth hanging open.

"I know," Kim said. "It is _so_ freaky when he does that…"

_So_ the last thing on Mama Possible's mind.

"How…how did you know about that?" She gasped.

"We didn't," Ron said. "The magic did. And it wouldn't let us make you forget. Because that would mean that you never forgave Sheila."

"You want me to…to forgive…Shego."

"Sheila," Ron corrected. "Shego's dead. And it's entirely up to you, but you should know that there's kind of a glitch in the system when it comes to her."

"What do you mean, 'Shego's dead'?" Colleed demanded. "And what 'glitch'?"

"I mean Shego's dead," Ron replied. "Dr. Drakken, too. Those parts of Drew and Sheila died in the fighting."

"They'll never get those years back," Kim added softly. "They remember that they're in love, but they don't remember why. They'll have to rebuild that from the foundation up."

"And the glitch is this:" Ron continued. "Because you never forgave Sheila, the magic gave you an out so you could take your revenge if you want to: if you tell people that Sheila was Tiamat, they _will_ remember."

"And Sheila won't have a chance," Colleen Possible finished bleakly.

"Nope," Ron agreed. "The best she can hope for is that Will Du gets to her before Yori, because he'll use bullets."

Rufus cocked one of his paws to his head, his claws pointed like a gun. "Boom," he said, making a trigger-pulling gesture.

Colleen winced and turned away…then kept turning away and started pacing.

"Of course," Ron continued, acting like nothing had changed, "Once she remembers what Shego and Tiamat did, she probably won't _want_ to go on living."

Ferocity flashed across Colleen Possible's face and she opened her mouth to say something…then closed it again and kept pacing.

"You have no idea…" She muttered.

"I'm sorry, MrsDrP?" Ron said. "I couldn't hear that."

"You have no _idea_ how hard this is!" She shouted, rounding on them. "If she'd hurt _me_, I'd have forgiven her already! But she hurt my _daughter_! My _baby_! Until you have your own kids, you can't _imagine_…!"

"Probably not," Ron agreed. "And what I went through was bad enough."

That brought her to a halt.

"As for me, see above re. 'already forgiven'," Kim said. "For pretty much the reason you gave."

Colleen Possible stared at her daughter, her mind a maelstrom. This wasn't fair. Ten, fifteen minutes ago, she'd been happier than she'd ever been. Now…

"You're still scarred," she blurted.

"What, these?" Kim brushed at her eye. "I didn't get these from Shego."

"Then where?" Colleen asked desperately, almost in self-defense. She'd held lives in her hands before, but this was too big, too fast, too much.

"Sabertooth."

Colleen Possible just stared. Blank. The system had finally crashed. "Sabertooth."

"Long story."

"Apparently so."

"The point is that _I'm okay_, Mom. You're the one who's still hurting."

Collen Possible sighed and put a hand over her eyes, her shoulders drooping with weariness. "You're right, I am. And it's hard to let that go."

She took another deep breath, the dropped her hand and raised her head.

"Make me forget."

"Mom?"

"You heard me. I could never look at her without seeing the person who hurt my daughter. It would drive me crazy, knowing that she was walking around free. I would hate her. And someday…" she shook her head. "And she doesn't deserve that. It's better this way. Make me forget. I'm sorry. That's the best I can do."

"It's enough," Kim said, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you. You're the best mom I've ever had."

Colleen Possible gave a deep, shuddering sigh and hugged her daughter back, burying her face in her shoulder.

Which was when Ron Stoppable laid his hand on her head like a benediction.

----

"Best mom you've ever had?" Colleen Possible asked, raising her head to stare quizzically at her firstborn. "What on Earth does _that _mean?"

"Oh…yeah…I'm sorry, this is going to take some getting used to."

"_What's_ going to take a lot of getting used to?"

Kim winced and ran a hand through her bicolored hair. "That's a lonnnng story," she said.

Colleen raised an eyebrow. "You seem to have a lot of those," she said.

"I guess I do," Kim said, looking even more sheepish than before.

"Maybe we should go find someplace to sit down and tell a few of them."

"That's a _good_ idea," Kim agreed. "Let's go do that." She took Ron's hand, and the four of them started to walk.

As far as Colleen Possible was aware, the walk to Middleton Hospital passed in companionable silence. She was wrong.

----

_Well, that was awful, _Kim thought at Ron.

_Pretty much what we expected, then,_ Ron thought back.

_True. At least it's over._

_That it is. The only suckage that remains is that, since we're the only ones who remember, we can't talk about the trauma with anyone._

Kim sighed. _Price we pay for starting the new world off with a lie, I guess. _She squeezed his hand. _I think we'll be enough for each other. Besides…_she rolled her eyes. _I think we have _enough _'splainin' to do._

_Like how they might as well start working on a ceremony, 'cause we're more married than anyone's ever been in the history of the world? _ He suggested, grinning wryly.

…_yeah. Let's wait a little while on that one._

_That's a _good _idea._

There was a pause, a moment of true silence, and then Kim spoke again:

_We're never going to be really separate again, are we?_

_Nope. Heaven, Hell, reborn as cows…we're together. Is that so bad? _

_No. It's not even weird. I thought it would be, but…now that it's happening, I can't think of anything that could make me happier. _She paused. _Do you really think we might go to Hell?_

_If we did, we'd bring the place down. I don't think Hell can survive love. _

_True._

_Anyway, I never thought it would be weird._

_No?_

_If this was any kind of 'price' to us, it wouldn't have worked._

_Good point._

_I'm full of 'em._

_That's not all you're full of._

He grinned, but then his face went serious. _It does change everything, though. Can you imagine how scary it would be if we were anybody else? Think of it: _forever

_I am thinking about it. It's making me happy. And it doesn't change _everything

She held out her hand, and a flint knife lying in the grass flew into it. She passed it to him with a smile as he stared in surprise.

_We still have work to do._

Ron's look of surprise turned into a grin. _We're gonna change the world, aren't we?_

_That's the plan._

His grin broadened as he threw an arm around her shoulder, while she put one around his waist.

_Got your back, KP. _

_No. By my side._

_Always._

It was still early morning – dawn had been just breaking when the battle had begun – so it was with those thoughts that they stepped over the edge of the crater and out into the new day.

Another New Beginning

Adrena Lynn looked at herself in the mirror for what she fully intended to be the last time.

It was better than it had been – at least she had her nose back – but she still had a handprint branded into the middle of her face, and that was more than enough. Someone had to pay.

She had seen on the news that Shego was dead, and that bummed her out a little. Not too much, though. Even if she'd lived, Shego would only have been the first part of her revenge. Shego had been the one to burn her, it was true, but she never should have been in prison in the first place. She never would have come _near_ Shego if it weren't for…_her_. The one whose jealousy and showing off had put her in prison in the first place. The stupid little cheerleader with her innocent act for the cameras and permanent upholstery-burns on her back from that quarterback's car seats. The little bitch had probably _paid_ Shego to burn her face off so she wouldn't have any competition for the cameras.

Well, before too long, little miss perfect wouldn't be quite so photogenic anymore.

She pulled on her cybertronic helmet, and it locked into place with the rest of the battlesuit that she'd stolen from the ruins of Global Justice. Adrena Lynn ceased to exist; Crash Damage was online.

"I'm coming for you, Kim Possible," she growled. "And it's gonna be freaky."


	26. Afterword

**And that, my friends, as they say, is that. When I joined this fandom just a little less than two years ago, I didn't know just what a long journey I was setting out on. But now, at last, I think I've told the story that I came here to tell.**

**There are more stories, of course. There are always more stories: there's the vignette where Ron earns the envy of every caring husband who ever lived when his healing magic allows him to actually do something useful when Kim is bearing and delivering their children. There's the stillborn storyline where we discover that it was something more than mere nerdiness that made Bonnie ditch Bethie, and something more than remorse that brings them back together. Here's a hint: I would never have had Bonnie use the word "dyke" back in "Dumb As a Brick" if I didn't intend to make her eat it sooner or later. **

**But I'm afraid those stories will have to remain untold, at least by me.**

**And those aren't the only stories that remain to be told, of course, because everyone has their own story, the story where **_**they**_**, not Kim or Ron or Drakken or Shego, are the main character. Where does Will Du's story go from here? Will Global Justice be rebuilt, or allowed to stay dead? What is Yamanouchi's purpose now that the Unshaper has been defeated?**

**I can't tell you those answers, because I honestly don't know. **

**That's the blessing and the curse of being a writer: there are more roads than you can ever have the time or the strength to walk. **

**With that in mind, it's time for me to stop following someone else's roadmap, and get back to going my own way. It's great to do this as a hobby, for love of the show – Lord knows that's why I got into it in the first place – but if I want to spend my **_**life**_** writing stories, they have to be my own. I can't spend this much time and energy on someone else's world anymore. I've taken a few steps on my own – check the links in my profile for the original short stories that I've gotten published – but it's time to pull on my backpack, tighten my shoes, and start the journey in earnest. I may stop in once or twice again, but I'm afraid they'll just be visits now. **

**Before I go, I'd like to thank some of the people who've made my time in this fandom so special, and who helped make my story what it was.**

**Charles Gray, thank you for showing me how grand, glorious, and epic a KP story could really be. Now go finish a few of those grand, glorious epics, would you please?**

**Thanks to MrDrP, without whom the entire past lives storyline – the heart and soul of this story – would never have existed. The briefest glimpse of Pim and Lon in "Epic Sitch" was that much of an inspiration. You tell the story of our heroes' love – and the pain of a lifetime without it – frighteningly well.**

**And thanks to Airwalker99 for all of your help behind the scenes. You have no idea how many scenes were written to answer – or forestall – your questions. You kept me honest, and in doing so, you helped me build a solid skeleton under the pretty skin. You helped make it real.**

**Thank you all, and good journey.**

**- Mattk**


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